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School and Parlor 


COMEDIES 

CONTAINING 


“Between the Acts,” “ Forget-me-Nots ,” “A Cloudy Day,” “Wanted, 
a Valet,” “A Slight Miscalculation,” and “ Pro Tem.” 


B. L. C. GRIFFITH 


Philadelphia 

The Penn Publishing Company 

1894 



Copyright 1894 by The Penn Publishing Company 





CONTENTS 


BETWEEN THE ACTS 
FORGET-ME-NOTS 
A CLOUDY DAY 
WANTED, A VALET 
A SLIGHT MISCALCULATION 


PRO TEM 



Between the Acts 


A Comedy in Three Acts 














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ARGUMENT. 


“Dick” Comfort lives comfortably upon an allowance given him 
by his Uncle Meander, upon the condition that he shall not marry. 
Despite his uncle’s wishes, he has fallen in love and married, being 
careful to keep the news from his uncle’s ears. 

He and his wife, Edith, have settled a few miles out of New York, and 
finding the time to hang heavy upon his hands, he occupies himself 
by writing a play, hoping thereby to win a prize that has been offered. 
This play he has completed, and all that is necessary is to revise it, 
which must be done by the evening of the day in which the story 
takes place. He has revised the first act and is taking a rest 
“Between the Acts,” when the morning mail brings him a letter 
from his Uncle Meander, stating that he expects to arrive that very 
day to remain until the afternoon. 

What is to be done? How is he to keep his uncle from seeing 
Edith, and so discover that they are married? 

He finally decides that the only thing for him to do is to play 
bachelor. 

He dispatches his wife to town upon an errand, having great diffi- 
culty in preventing his uncle from seeing her, who arrives just before 
she leaves. Shortly after George Merrigale, an old friend of Dick’s, 
arrives, having run out from town to spend the day. He also is not 
aware that Dick is married. Seeing a picture of Edith he inquires 
who is the original, and Dick informs him that it is a photograph of 
the maid-servant. This deception is kept up throughout the play. 

Later in the day Mrs. Meander, Dick’s aunt, comes from town. 
She is not upon very friendly terms with her husband, and so took a 
later train. Edith also returns, and not knowing Dick’s uncle and 
aunt, thinks Dick has sent her to town so that he could make love to 
another woman. The others take her for the maid, having been told 
so by Dick, and Merrigale misunderstanding a remark that Harris, 
the man-servant, has made, thinks Dick is not only married to his 
maid, but has another wife beside. He tells this to Meander, who 
is furious, and after an interview with Edith, dismisses his own wife, 
whom he does not recognize, and thinks is the other woman. Edith 
assists him in making peace with Mrs. Meander, and she is so sorry 
for mistrusting Dick that she willingly forgives him. Meander ajso, 
although blaming Dick, who is heartily sorry for the way he has 
acted, forgives him for Edith’s sake, whom he pronounces “a 
jewel.” 

He tells Dick to continue writing plays for an amusement if he 
will, but when he is in need of the wherewithal to sustain life to 
draw upon him “ Between the Acts.” 


3 



f 


TIME IN REPRESENTATION. 
Two hours and a quarter. 


COSTUMES. • 

“Dick” Comfort. — O rdinary suit. 

George Merrigale. — ist, Traveling suit, spattered with 
mud ; 2d, Masquerading costume. 

Alexander Meander. — Old gentleman’s walking suit. 

Harris. — Man servant suit. 

Mrs. Clementina Meander. — Old fashioned dress, black 
bonnet, shawl, etc. 

Mrs. Edith Comfort. — ist, House dress ; 2d, same with 
bonnet, etc. 

Sally. — Servant’s dress. 


PROPERTIES. 

Act I. — Letter for Comfort, which he is discovered reading ; 
a quantity of paper, writing materials, and cabinet photograph 
on table; newspaper for Meander ; cigar for Merrigale to 
smoke ; boxes for Harris to enter with. 

Act II. — Dusting-brush for Harris ; money for Comfort to 
give Harris ; handkerchief for Merrigale ; bag for Sally. 

Act III. — Newspaper for Merrigale; glass of' water on 
table for Comfort. 


4 


CAST OF CHARACTERS. 


“Dick” Comfort, married, yet single. 
George Merrigale, an unfriendly friend. 
Alexander Meander, Dick's unde. Blamed 
but blameless. 

Harris, Comfort's man-servant. 

Mrs. Clementina Meander, Dick's aunt. 
Blameless . but b’ anted. 

Edith Comfort, Dick's wife . “ Unknown , un~ 

honored , and unsung .” 

Sally, Mrs. Meander s Maid. 


Act I and II — Morning. Act III — Afternoon, 
stage directions. 

R. R. c. C. L. C. L. 

The player is supposed to face the audience, r., means right ; 
l., left; c., centre; R. c., right of centre; l. c., left of centre; 
n. f., door in flat or scene across back of stage; r. n., right door; 
L. d., left door; l. d. i, left door, ist entrance; l. d. 2, left door, 
2d entrance. 

5 










































































BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


Act I. 

SCENE. — Handsomely furnished drawing-room in Dick 

Comfort’s house. Comfort discovered standing by ta- 
ble , reading letter attentively. 

Comfort ( after pause) What shall I do? Here is a 
letter from Uncle Meander, stating that he is coming to 
spend the day. When he told me, four years ago, that I 
should be his heir and that he would allow me $2,500 a year 
during his lifetime, I raised no objection whatever ; in fact 
the idea rather pleased me. But there was to be one con- 
dition — that I should never marry. I had no desire to marry 
then ; that was four years ago. But one can’t help falling 
in love; ( pointing to himself ) at least this one couldn’t. 
Who wouldn’t fall in love with Edith ? And ever since 
Edith and I were married, six months ago, I have been 
in constant fear and trembling lest Uncle should hear of it. 
This visit will upset all my calculations. He will discover 
the truth and then my chances of succession will vanish. 
What is to be done ? (Reads letter) “ Will arrive Thurs- 
day morning — that is to-day — “ and will be compelled to 
leave by the afternoon train.” The afternoon train goes 
at four o’clock. (Thoughtfully) Now, if I could prevent 
a meeting between Edith and Uncle Meander ; if I could 
play the part, of a bachelor, just for to-day — by George ! 
I have half a mind to try it ; that is my only chance ; my 
last hope. I’ll do it. But what is to be done with Edith ? 
(Enter Mrs. Comfort, d. l. 2.) 

Mrs. C. Dick (Com. starts ), won’t you take a drive with 
me this morning ? 

Com. My dear Edith, I — I fear I am too busy this 
morning. 

Mrs. C. You do not appear so. 

Com. Well, in this case, appearances are deceitful. I-^I 

7 


3 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


am devoting 1 myself to-day to the revising of my comedy. 
It has to be sent in to-morrow, you know ; that’s why 
I am working so hard. I have just finished making the 
necessary corrections in Act I, so I thought I was en- 
titled to a few minutes rest. 

Mrs. C. Oh ! I wish you had never begun to write your 
old play. Suppose you should win the prize, what good 
would it do you ? 

Com. But, my dear Edith, think of the fame. 

Mrs. C. And of what use would that be to you ? Would 
it help you remember your wife ? Would you think of her 
happiness any more than you do now ? 

Com. No, not more than now, for you know that to see 
my wife happy is my greatest wish. I would enjoy a drive 
in your company, far more than Working all day, but duty 
before pleasure, you know, work before play. 

Mrs. C. But your play is before everything. 

Com. And yet, it is not recreation. My play is work — 
very hard work, too ; but, on the other hand, my work is 
all play, so it is the combination of these two evils that 
makes me, in your eyes, a dull boy. But I — I am very glad 
that you intend to take a drive. It is such beautiful weather ; 
suppose you drive into town and spend the day with your 
mother. 

Mrs. C. Why, I wouldn’t get home until late this after- 
noon. 

Com. {half aside) Yes, I know. 

Mrs. C. Besides, I spent all last week in town. No, 
unless you will go with me, I shall not take a drive 
to-day. 

Com. But, my dear Edith, there is a little commission 
I want you to execute for me in town. I — I need some 
paper, in fact, I must have it, or I can’t finish my play to- 
night. 

Mrs. C. You have plenty of paper; look here. ( Takes 
up a quantity of paper from table) 

Com. ( confused ) Yes — but — a — but this is not the right 
kind. 

Mrs. C. What kind do you wish ? 

Com. Oh ! any kind will do ; buy all kinds. 

Mrs. C. But Dick, can’t Harris purchase it, just as 
well as I ? 

Com. No, no, you are the only one that can do it, that is 
to say, you are the one I wish to go to town, I- -I — mean— 
oh ! ( earnestly ) Edith, if you love me, do go. 

Mrs. C. Very well, my dear, if you wish it ; but I shall 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


9 


take the train, it is too long a drive. How much paper 
shall I buy? 

Com. Oh ! any amount ; I shall need a great quantity ; as 
much as you can bring home. {Aside) The more she pur- 
chases the longer it will take her. 

Mrs. C. {aside) Poor boy, he is so nervous ; he has 
been working entirely too hard. 

Com. {looking at watch ) Nine o’clock! You will just 
have time to catch the train. I shall order the carriage to 
take you to the depot. {Calling) Harris ! 

Mrs. C. But, Dick, the train doesn’t leave until nine 
thirty. 

Com. Yes — you can just make it, no more. {Calling) 
Harris ! 

Mrs. C. There is plenty of time. {Exit Mrs. C. d. l. i.) 

Com. {calling loudly) Harris ! {Enter Harris d. f.) 

Har. Did you ring, sir? 

Com. {sharply) No, I didn’t ring, but I have been calling 
you for the last half-hour. 

Har. Yes, sir. 

Com. Order the carriage immediately. 

Har. Yes, sir. {Aside) His honor is in good spirits this 
mornin’. {Exit Harris, d. f.) 

Com. If Edith will only leave before Uncle Meander 
arrives all will be well {takes up MS. from table) Here’s 
my comedy ; two acts yet to revise before to-night. Oh ! 
why did uncle choose to-day for a visit ! I will be tod busy 
to entertain him, he must amuse himself. I suppose I had 
better work while I have the opportunity {sits at table) 
Let me see, Act I is completed ; I am glad of it. Now for 
Act II {takes up pen , stops as if listening) Carriage-wheels ! 
Can it be Uncle Meander {rises and goes to windoiv in 
back of stage) ! By George ! it must be he ; that is the 
hack from the depot. Now what am I to do ? 

Mrs. C. {calling from without) Dick ! 

Com. {comifig down stage) Yes, my dear; no hurry; 
there is plenty of time. {Aside) I must resort to desperate 
measures {locks door l. i). There, she is caged. {Enter 
Meander d. f.) 

Mean. Well, Richard, my boy, here I am. 

Com. Ah ! uncle ! I am delighted. You’re looking as hale 
and hearty as ever, I see. 

Mean. Yes, never was in better health. You needn’t 
hope to get rid of me for many years, although, no doubt, 
you wish it, you young rascal {digs him in the ribs\ 

Com. {deprecatmgly) O uncle ! 


IO 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


Mean. Well, Richard, it has been four years since last I 
saw you. You’re not married yet I hope. 

Com. {nervously) Married! The idea of my marrying* 
Oh ! no I — - 

Mrs. C. ( calling from without ) Dick! 

Com. ( coughs violently). 

Mean. Did any one call ? 

Com. ( confused ) No, oh! no! that’s only the parrot. 
{Aside) How shall I prevent them from meeting ? v To 
Meander) Uncle, you must be very tired after your 
journey {taking him by the arm ) .* I am sure you would like 
to rest awhile {leading him toward d. r.) Come ; right in 
here. 

Mean, {hesitatingly) But, my dear boy, I really do not 
feel fatigued. 

Com. Oh ! yes ; I am sure you do. 

Mrs. C. {calling from without) Dick! 

Com. ( nervously ) The parrot, only the parrot; speaks 
very plainly, doesn’t it ? 

Mean. Do you keep it in a cage ? 

Com. Yes, oh! yes; she is caged! I — I mean it is. 
Right in here, uncle {pushes him into room r., shuts door and 
locks it). Now he’s caged. What shall I do with them ? 
I will dispose of Edith first {goes to d. l. i and unlocks it 
carefully). Edith, my dear, you must make haste. {Calls) 
Harris! {Enter Mrs. C. d. l. i. Dressed ready tp go out.) 

Com. You will lose the train. {Enter Harris, d. f.) 

Mrs. C. But, Dick, you said there was plenty of time. 

Com. So there was , but — a — there is no time now. ( To 
Harris) Harris, is the carriage ready 

Harris. It is at the door, sir. 

Com. {sharply) That’s what I asked you. {To Mrs. C.) 
Good-bye, my dear {kisses her). You won’t return until 
this evening, will you ? No, that’s right ; I won’t expect 
you until then. (Mean, pounds upon door) 

Mrs. C. What’s that ? 

Com. {confused) Oh ! that’s — a — that’s only the dog. 

Harris. No, sir ; I just seen the dog down — 

Com. Keep quiet! do you hear! I’ve had enough of 
your impudence this morning. {To Mrs. C.) Good-bye, 
Edith {kisses her again). Spend the day at your mother’s. 
Good-bye {hurries her ojit d. f. ; exit Harris d. f.) 

Mean, {pounds o?i the door and calls) Richard ! 

Com. The dog is becoming noisy; Edith left just in 
time. ( Unlocks door r.) Why, uncle, what is the matter ? 
{Enter Mean. d. r.) Did you lock yourself in ? 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


II 


Mean, {ivith suppressed temper) Lock myself in ! No, 
certainly not ! how could I, when the key was on the out* 
side ? 

Com. ( holding key in hand ) So it is. It was a mistake. 
Harris must have done it ; what a stupid fellow he is ! I 
have given instructions that these doors be always kept 
closed, and Harris, with his natural craving to obey orders, 
must have locked you in. 

Mean. Well, your servant’s yearning to be obedient was 
misdirected in this case ; see that it does not occur again. 

Com. {half aside) I hope there will be no necessity. 

Mean. There was no necessity this time. 

Com. {quickly) No, of course not, of course not. 

Mean, {suspiciously) By the way, Richard, I heard a 
woman’s voice ; whose was it ? 

Com. That was the parrot. 

Mean. But the parrot is not in this room. This was a 
woman — I am sure of it ; she was talking to some man. 

Com. {confusea) Oh ! it — I mean she was — Harris, you 
know — the maid talking to Harris. {Earnestly) But, uncle, 
you couldnt’t understand what they said, could you ? 

Mean. No, not perfectly. I thought I heard the man 
say “ good-bye.” 

Com. That was to the maid, you know, she was going 
to spend the day in town. 

Mean. Then the man spoke of a dog ; do you keep 
dogs ? 

Com. Oh ! yes, about a dozen. 

Mean. A dozen dogs and a parrot ! You seem to be 
fond of the animal kingdom. Any others ? 

Com. Not that 1 can think of at present. You see, I — I 
live such a quiet and retired life I find it necessary to have 
some companions. # 

Mean. You evidently believe in quantity before quality. 

I am glad that your companions are chosen from among 
the brute creation, from the animals that are blessed with 
being created dumb ; there is a kind of animal — about which 
I have often warned you — whose oratorical powers are very 
great. In that animal’s eyes we men are considered as* 
members of the brute creation. 

Com. {deprecatingly) O uncle ! how very ungallant. 

Mean. It’s true nevertheless ; take your servant for ex- 
ample — {enter Harris, d. f.) — with all his dumbness he is 
far superior to — 

Har. Mr. Comfort, sir ! 

Com. {turning) What do you mean, you rascal ! 


12 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


Har. There’s a gent — 

Com. Silence ! 

Har. Yes, sir, but — 

Com. Did you hear me ? 

Har. Yes, sir, but Mr. Marygal told me to — 

Com. Merrigale ! George Merrigale ! 

Har. I don’ know, sir; but he just arriv’. 

Com. Why didn’t you say so ? 

Har. I was attemptin’ to, sir, but — 

Com. You’re too confounded slow. 

Har. Yes, sir. 

Com. Show Mr. Merrigale up immediately — now don’t 
ask me “ when ” — immediately ! {Exit Harris, d. f.) 

Com. {To Mean.) George is an old friend of mine, un- 
cle ; I haven’t seen him for a year. {Aside suddenly recol- 
lecting) Deuce take it all ! He knows all about my mar- 
riage ; he will ruin me. {Aloud) Uncle, you didn’t half 
rest yourself did you ? {taking him by the arm ) Come, take 
another nap. 

Mean. But I feel no need of rest. 

Com. Then take a walk over the grounds ; I know you 
will enjoy it ; right out this way. {Leads him toward R.) 

Mean. No, Richard, I would far rather remain. {Enter 
Merrigale, d. f., clothmg spattered with mud.) 

Mer. Ah ! Dickie, my boy. I’ve come in the shape of a 
little surprise ; it is a surprise, isn’t it ? 

Com. Yes, I must confess it is. 

Mer. I knew it. Haven’t seen you for nearly a year, 
have I ? How am I looking, eh ? 

Com. A trifle seedy. 

Mer. Eh ! I knew you would say so. You must excuse 
my good looks ; {pointing to mud ) these beauty marks were 
gathered along the road. 

What a deuced slow place you have out here, old fellow ; 
I had to walk all the way from the depot. Only one cab, 
and some old duffer took that, so I had to foot it {seeing 
Mean, aside) By jove ! there he is. ( To Comfort) Pre- 
sent us, old man. 

* Com. {aside) There is no escape. {To Mean.) Uncle, let 
me introduce an old friend of mine, Mr. Merrigale. 

Mer. The honor is mine, sir. {Aside) Dick’s uncle ! A 
— Mr. Comfort, I suppose. 

Mean, {crossly) I never claimed it. 

Mer. Quite right, sir. 

Mean, {with dignity) I consider the title which you have 
just applied to me very inappropriate, sir. 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


13 


Mer. You mean, “ old duffer”? Oh! don’t let that 
make you uneasy ; you couldn’t help it, you know. 

Mean, {aside) A very forward fellow. 

Com. {anxious to get Mer. out of the room) George, I 
know you would like to change your clothes. 

Mer. Why, I’ve scarcely had time to shake hands with 
you yet, old fellow {takes his hand ). I am stopping in 

for a few days, and thought I would just run out and 

see an old friend. Too slow out here for me, though. I’d 
petrify in a few days. Ah ! Dickie ! we don’t have the lively 
times we used to, do we? What a gay bird you were! 

Com. Perhaps I was before I — ahem — 

Mer. Married, eh ! 

Com. {co?/ghs violently). 

Mer. Don’t be bashful, old man {looking around). 
Where do you keep her ? I never saw her, you know ; left 
home just after the engagement was announced and went 
to India. 

Com. {coughs again). 

Mer. Bad cough that, old man. 

Mean. Mr. Merriwind, may 1 ask to whose engagement 
you were referring? 

Com. {aside) It is all over with me. 

Mer. Certainly, sir. To Dick’s; sly dog, isn’t he? 
Always was a gay sort of a chap, you know, but I never 
thought he cared for the ladies. The first I knew, he was 
engaged. 

Mean. Richard, you told me nothing ©f this {sternly). 
Have you deceived me, sir ? 

Com. O uncle ! pray spare my feelings. 

Mean, {aside) He appears agitated. {Aloud) Was the 
engagement broken off? Did it end as most of these love 
affairs do ? 

Com. Yes, sir — it — a — it came to a sudden end — about 
six months ago. {Aside) I was married then. { To Merri- 
gale) George, won’t you please go and change your 
clothing ? 

Mer. Certainly, old chap, but — a — this is the only suit I 
have with me. 

Com. I will lend you one. {Calling) Harris! 

Mer. Awful sorry for my mistake, old man. 

Com. A very natural one, but — a — please make no 
more. {Enter Harris d. f.) {To Harris) Harris show 
Mr. Merrigale to my room. George, I think I left one of 
my suits on a chair ; you can wear that while yours is being 
cleaned. 


H 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


Har. Yes r sir. ( Exeunt Harris and Merrigale d. 
l. 2.) 

Mean. Now, Richard, explain matters ! Why did you 
not notify me of your engagement ? 

Com. ( confused) Well, uncle, I — I — I can hardly tell ; 
you were away at the time, you know. 

Mean. Did you end the engagement or the girl ? 

Com. It was by mutual consent ; I — I think perhaps I 
was the more anxious of the two. 

Mean. I am very glad that it did end. You know that 
a wife would only make trouble between us. 

Com. Yes, I know. 

Mean. Never let me hear of your marriage, or — you 
know the consequences. 

Com. I am doing my best and I assure you, uncle, that 
ever since my — a — my — engagement came to an end I 
have never once thought of another woman. 

Mean. That’s right, Richard ; you show your good 
sense. What time does the next train arrive from town ? 

Com. ( looking at watch) There was one due a few minutes 
ago. 

Mean. That is the one my wife was to take. 

Com. ( surprised ) Your wife ! Not Aunt Clementina ! 

Mean. Of course ; how many wives do you credit me 
with ? 

Com. But you said nothing about her coming. 

Mean. Didn’t I mention it in my letter ? That was a 
great oversight. She stopped in town ; said she would 
come in the next train. 

Com. {aside) I seem to be holding a reception to-day. 

Mean. In case, Richard, you notice anything peculiar 
in my actions toward my wife, do not be alarmed ; we have 
had a little misunderstanding and at present do not speak. 

Com. That’s too bad. 

Mean. Oh ! no ; it’s a little pleasantry on her part, that’s 
all. You may perhaps think it affectation, but through force 
of habit it has become a second nature. And, by the way, 
should she inquire if you “ know who that individual is ” — 
which means me — it would be just as well for you to plead 
ignorance. 

Com. What do you mean ? You want me to act as if 
you were a stranger ? 

Mean. Oh! no, that will be unnecessary. Just tell her 
— if she should ask the question — that you do not know 
me. She will like you all the better for it and it won’t hurt 
my feelings in the slightest ; that is another second nature. 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


15 


But if you do not object, we will drop the subject of wives, 
Richard. 

Com. Willingly, sir. 

Mean. That parrot of yours — is it a Chrysotis or an 
Erithacus ? 

Com. (< bewildered) Just a — a plain green one, sir; a talk- 
ing one, you know. 

Mean. I should like very much to see it. ( Enter Harris 
d. l. 2.) 

Com. ( confused) I — I am very sorry, but — 

Mean. No butting, Richard, your man can bring it. (To 
Harris) James, bring the parrot. 

Har. {surprised) The which, sir? 

Mean. The parrot. 

Har. I — I am afraid, sir — 

Com. {quickly) Afraid ! of what ? bring the bird in- 
stantly. 

Har. You mean the stuffed one in the library, sir? 

Com. Stuff and nonsense ! the one in the — a — the right 
wing. 

Har. {bewildered) Ye-es, sir. 

Com. Be quick now, and don't return without it 

Har. Yes, sir. {Exit D. F.) 

Mean. Have you more than one parrot? 

Com. Oh ! yes, half a dozen ; I — I quite overlooked the 
others. {Enter Mer. d. l. 2, dressed in clown's costume.) 

Mer. Is this the best you could do for me, old man ? 

Com. Why what in the deuce have you got on ? 

Mer. That is more than I can tell you. This is the suit 
I found on the chair. Your man took my suit before I had 
a chance to look for yours ; then it was this or nothing. I 
preferred this. 

Com. I am glad you gave it the preference. But I 
didn't mean that suit. That is a masquerading costume. 
{Beginning to laugh) George you look like a perfect clown. 

Mer. And so I am — I — I — mean — say Dickie, it is 
hardly kind to dress me up just for your own amusement. 

Com. {still laughing) Forgive me, old fellow, but do take 
off those ridiculous garments. 

Mer. Oh! I quite enjoy them ; makes me feel young 
again, you know {dances to table , sees photograph of Mrs. C. 
and examines it). 

Mean. {To Com.) He acts young; childish, I should 
call it. 

Mer. I say, Dickie, who is she ? Deuced fine looking 

girl. 


i6 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


Com. C tside ) My wife’s photograph ! {coughs violently 
then quickly) As I was saying, uncle, I am exceedingly 
fond of parrots, in fact, I make them a specialty. The green 
ones are my favorites, I think ; they are so — a — so green, 
you know. 

Mer. {coming down stage with photograph in hand ) Who 
did you say she was, Dickie ? Any relation ? 

Com. {feigning ignorance') Relation ! Who ! What ! 

Mer. Wliy this stunning looking girl {showing photo- 
graph to Mean, and digging him in ribs ) A beauty, eh ! 

Com. {looking at photograph) Where did you find that ? 

Mer. On the table ; who is she ? 

Com. {at a loss what to say) She — it, I mean — no — that is 
to say she is — a — the maid-servant, only the maid-servant. 

Mer. Maid-servant ! By jove, she is far too good look- 
ing for a maid-servant {handing photograph to Mean.) What 
do you think of that, eh ? {digs him in ribs) looks like a 
princess in disguise, don’t she ? 

Mean. But, Richard, how comes a picture of a maid- 
servant on your sitting-room table ? I do not admire your 
taste. 

Com. I really don’t know ; I — I suppose Harris must 
have left it there. No doubt she gave it to him and he for- 
got it. 

Mean. A very careless fellow. 

Com. Yes, very. 

Mer. {gazing at photograph ) What’s the fair creature’s 
name, Dickie ? 

Com. {hesitating) A — a — Sallie. 

Mer. Pretty name ; can’t we see her, old man ? Come, 
now, trot her out. 

Com. Impossible ! 

Mer. Oh ! do now. 

Com. Impossible, I tell you. She has gone to town. 
{Aside) I have told more lies to-day than is good for my 
health. 

Mer. When will she return ? 

Com. {sharply) It appears to me, Merrigale, you take a 
great, interest in my — my maid. 

Mer. I do. 

Com. {aside) I am becoming 'positively afraid of that 
man’s questions. A few more and he will discover — 

Mer. I say, Dickie, can’t you tell me — 

Com. {interrupting) No, I can’t. I — I am very sorry, but 
—a — not now, there is something that requires my atten- 
tion. {Aside) That’s another lie ; I am getting in over my 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


1 7 


head ; it will be best for me to withdraw from this man’s 
cross-questioning, until he changes the subject. {Aloud) 
Gentlemen, 1 hope you. will excuse me lor a moment; I 
shall return presently. ( Exit D. L. 2.) 

Mer. It’s a shame that such a clipper of a girl should 
spend her days as a maid-servant, don’t you think so ? 

Mean. ( sharply ) I don’t think anything about it. ( Takes 
newspaper from pocket , sits and reads.) 

Mer. I knew you would say so ; of course you don’t 
think anything about it ; neither do I, we know it. How 
would you like to live in solitude as a maid-servant, eh ? 
( Waits for reply) Just imagine yourself a maid-servant ; you 
wouldn’t like it, would you ? Of course, I mean, if you were 
accustomed to better things {confused), that is to say, I — I — 
mean — {looks at Mean., who pays no attentioii) {aside) I 
hardly think it is worth my while to mean anything ; he 
doesn’t appear to be interested. {A pause) {sitting) . This 
is rather slow. {Enter Harris d. f.; closely followed by Mrs. 
Mean, and Sallie.) 

Har. Mrs. Clementina Meander, sir! (Mean, starts, 
but continues to read paper. Mer. rises.) 

Mrs. Mean, {screams) Sarah, what is that creature ! 

Sal. One of thim ring circus clowns, mum. 

Har. If that ain’t Mr. Marygal, disguised. {To Mer.) I 
won’t tell her who you are, sir. 

Mer. Disguised ! Nonsense ! I am Mr. George Merrigale, 
madam, at your service. 

Mrs. M. {patronizingly) I think you can hardly be of 
any service to me, my man. 

Har. This is Mr. Comfort’s friend, Mr. Marygal, mam. 
{To Mer.) I thought you were disguised, sir. 

Mrs. M. Mr. Comfort’s friend ! 

Har. That’s what I remarked, mam. 

Mrs. M. Sarah, did he say Mr. Comfort’s friend? 

Sal. Indade, thet’s jist what he did said, mum. 

Mrs. M.. {half aside ) What must his enemies be like ! 
{Exit Har. d. f. laughing .) 

Mer. Madam, I am exceedingly sorry that I should have 
caused you and your daughter any annoyance. 

Mrs. M. My daughter! This is my French maid. (Sal. 
curtesies , Mean, begins to whistle .) 

Mrs. M. {starts) Sarah, who is that individual ? 

Sal. Sure an’ I don’t know, mum ; sounds like some 
whistlin’ stame dummy. (Mean, appears insulted and stops 
whistling .) 

Mer. That’s Mr. Comfort, Dick’s uncle, you know. 

2 


i8 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


Mrs. M. Comfort ! Sarah, did he say Comfort ? 

Sal. Indade he did, mum. 

Mrs. M. A blackbird may think, it is disguised by call- 
ing itself an eagle, but I am not to be deceived ; I know 
a blackbird when I see one. {To Mean.) Do you hear 
me ? 

Mer. Oh! yes, I — I hear! of course you do. {Aside) 
What is she talking about? 

Sal. And I know a blackbird, too, mum. 

Mer. Certainly; so do I. {Aside) There is nothing so 
very remarkable about that. {To Mrs. Mean.) I will pre- 
sent the gentleman, madam. (Mean, appears uncomfort- 
able^ ) 

Mrs. M. Stop! young man, you know not what you are 
about to do. 

Mer. Oh! yes’m, I do! 

Mrs. M. That— that person and I are strangers. 

Mer. Yes, I know, but — 

Mrs. M. And I prefer that we should remain strangers. 
{To Mean.) Do you hear me, sir? Strangers forever! 

Mer! I — I beg your pardon. I — I do not wish to force 
his acquaintance upon you. I think, however, you would 
find him a pleasant companion, but, of course, just as you 
please. {Aside) Seems a little eccentric. 

Mrs. M. Sarah, he knows my wishes upon the subject, 
does he not ? 

Sal. Iny common, horse-sensed individual would, 
mum. (Mean, starts whistling .) 

Mrs. M. That — that creature is making those peculiar 
noises again ; they give me the shivers. 

Mer. {To Mean.) My dear sir, won’t you postpone you! 
music until a more auspicious moment ? This lady 
seriously objects. (Mean, continues to whistle. Enter 
Comfort n. l. 2.) 

Com. Ah ! my dear aunt ! 

Mer. {aside) Dick’s aunt ! 

Com. I have not kept you waiting long, I hope. 

Mrs. M. {embracing him) A very long time, Richard ; a 
very long time. 

Com. But I feel confident that my friend Merrigale has 
entertained you. 

Mrs. M. Your friend! Is he indeed your friend ! t { To 
Sal.) Sarah, have my ears deceived me ? I understood 
him to call this — this person his friend. 

Sal. Yez eared aright, mum, “ me frind” is jist what he 
was sayin’. 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


19 


Mrs. M. O Richard! how low you have fallen. Alas! 
how true it is, “ a man is known by the company he keeps.” 
I little thought your friends would be found among circus 
clowns and — a — horse jockeys. {Mean, controls laughter 
with difficulty .) 

Mer. But, my dear madam— r 

Com. Why, aunt, you do not understand. Mr. Merrigale 
is neither a horse jockey nor a clown, but a gentleman of 
leisure. His clothes were so dirty that I insisted upon his 
wearing one of my suits, but by mistake he put on a 
masquerading costume. Looks funny, doesn’t he? {Laughs 
and is jobied by Mean.) 

Mean, (aside) The idea! took him for a circus down! 
Served him right though. 

Mrs. M. (with dignity) It seems, strange that a gentle- 
man of means, such as you hold your friend to be, should 
wear unclean clothing, and I cannot imagine why you 
should have in your possession such a costume. (Meander 
laughs.) Richard, who is that individual ? 

Com. That ! why you know, tliat’s — {suddenly recollect- 
ing ), I — I — I really don’t know, aunt. 

Mean, (aside) He just saved himself. 

Mer. (aside) What’s Dickie talking about? 

Mrs. M. I am pleased that you do not know him; he 
has done nothing but insult me ever since I entered the 
house. 

Com. Insult you! 

Sal. Thet’s jist what I belave he has bin a-doin’, as we 
all on us knows. 

Mrs. M. He is very objectionable, Ridiard; please see 
that he is removed. (Mean, whistles.) 

Com. (haughtily) Would you be so kind as to absent 
yourself, sir. (Aside to Mean.) Uncle, you’ll find some 
choice cigars in the smoking-room. * 

Mean, (rising) I never smoke, but I shall withdraw from 
this apartment with great pleasure. (Exit d. r.) 

Com. George, I know that you are partial to a good 
cigar — 

Mer. Yes, your knowledge is correct; you know my 
weakness, and if you will excuse me, I will join your uncle. 
(Exit D. R.) 

Mrs. M. (throwing her arms around Comfort) O 
Richard ! my life is not a happy one ! 

Sal. Nor moine, nather. mum. 

Mrs. M. Sarah, you will refrain from those unnecessary 
remarks. 


20 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


Sal. I — I was mainen on account of ’im, mum ; and 
sayin’ yez a-pinin’ yez own swate silf away, mum. 

Mrs. M. Yes, alas ! it is too true ! Here, Sarah, take 
my hat and shawl ( gives them to her. Beginning to cry ) 
I am pining myself into a shadow ; I am so ill-treated. 

Com. That’s too bad. Do you have many — many quar- 
rels? 

Mrs. M. ( crying ) Their name is legion. 

Sal. For they are many. She quarrels with ’im all the 
toime, sor. 

Mrs. M. ( sternly ) Sarah ! / never quarrel. 

Sal. In course yez don’t, mum ; it’s ’im thet quarrels. 

Mrs. M. ( throwing her arms around Com. and laying her 
head on his shoulder) I am so ill-treated that I have not 
where to lay my weary head. 

Com. (aside) She appears to have had practice some- 
where. 

Mrs. M. Even my husband considers me a burden. 

Com. (aside) She is a trifle heavy. 

Mrs. M. I have become in his eyes his servant ; a mere 
dependent. 

Com. (aside) She acts like a hanger-on. 

Mrs. M. Ah, Richard, if you were married, you would 
understand. 

Com. ( starting ) Married ! ha-ha, the idea of my marry- 
ing. (Enter Mrs. C. d. f.) 

Mrs. M. But you will marry some day. (Enter Mean. 
and Mer. d. r., Mer. smoki?ig.) 

Com. But I am not married, nor have I any desire to be. 
(Mrs. C. screams. ) 

Mrs. M. (turning) Richard, who is this woman ? 

Com. (confused) Oh ! that — a — she — you know — she is 
my — my maid-servant. (Enter Har. d. f. carrying boxes . 
fylRS. C. leans against him.) Tableau. 


Act II. 

SCENE. — Same as Act I. Boxes piled by table . Harris 

discovered dusting. 

Har. I can’t understand it. The governor never acted 
like this before; leastwise not since I’ve knowed him. 
He must have somethin’ on his mind — that is, on part of 
his mind — I’m afear’d the t’other part h’aint there. ( Tapping 
his forehead ) I’m afeared he’s just a little queer kinder, as it 
were. The idea of blamin’ everything on me, when I never 
done nothin’ ; and then talking about parrots and one thing 
an' another; tellin’ me go fetch the parrot in the right wing 
an’ not to come back until I done it. Dog me cats! I’d 
never have got back at all if it hadn’t a- been for the missus, 
an’ them boxes. {Looking at boxes by table') J ust look at ’em ; 
I had to carry ’em up-stairs two at onct, and it warn’t no 
easy job, nuther. Wonder what’s in ’em ? {Examines.) 
{Enter Com. d. l. 2.) 

Com. {sharply) Harris! (Har. starts) Leave those boxes 
alone ! 

Har. Yes, sir; I was goin’ to — when you came in — 

Com. You were going to do nothing of the kind. {Goes 
to table) 

Har. Coin’ to do what, sir ? 

Com. {angrily) Leave the room ! 

Har. No, sir; I warn’t. 

Com. Leave the room, do you hear ! 

Har. {meekly) Yes, sir {aside) I’m afeared he’s a little 
touched in the ’ead, as it were {going). 

Com. {calling) Harris ! 

Har. {stopping) Yes, sir. 

Com. {sitting) You may think that I have been acting in 
. — a — a somewhat peculiar manner to-day. 

Har. Seein’ as it were you, sir, I didn’t think nothin’ on it. 

Com. {angrily) What! 

Har. I — I mean, sir, it warn’t for me to think. You can 
act as it pleases you, sir. 

Com. Oh ! I can ? 

Har. Yes, sir. 

Com. {dryly) Thank you. 


21 


22 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


H A R . (surprised ) Sir! 

Com. I said, “ Thank you.” 

Har. Yes, sir. (Aside) I’m sure I don’t know what 
he’s thankin’ me for. 

Com. Perhaps I may have blamed you for one or two 
little things that you did not do. 

Har. If I might be so bold, sir, I will say, that now you 
speak on it, perhaps there was one or two little matters that 
I didn’t hexactly know what your meanin’ were. 

Com. (thoughtfully) Yes, perhaps there were, but — 
they were necessary. 

Har. Yes, sir. (Hesitating) A-a might I ask, sir, what 
parrot I was to fetch by the wing, as it were ? 

Com. Never mind the parrot, Harris ; it is an unpleas- 
ant subject. (Gives money) Here, take this. 

Har. (aside) He is certainly crazy. 

Com. And b.e sure and say nothing to the other servants 
of this conversation. Now you may leave the room. 

Har. Thank ye, sir. (Exit d. f.) 

Com. What a dumb-head that fellow is. By George ! 
here's my play ; I had forgotten it. My rest, between the 
acts, has been a long one, but it can hardly be called a rest ; 
never worked harder in my life. Since I started upon my 
diplomatic career — we will give it the benefit of the doubt 
and call it diplomacy — I have told so many lies that now 
they come without my assistance — in fact, they almost say 
themselves, and I have great difficulty in keeping them 
back. They are cheap, but very useful ; the question is 
whether I won’t have to pay for them some day. I am 
afraid the bill will be a large one, for I keep a running- 
account. Now that Edith has returned, my ingenuity will 
be taxed to its utmost. How in the deuce did Edith get 
back so soon ? She must have bought the paper in the 
village ; I’ll wager the stationer made his fortune. I have 
said nothing to her since her return ; haven’t had the 
chance, and I can’t say that I desire one. (Enter Mrs. C. 
d. l. i, goes toward d. f.) Com. (rising) By jove ! the chance 
has come (getting in her way). My dear Edith, I — 

Mrs. C. (very haughtily) Sir! 

Com. (stepping aside quickly) I — I merely wished to in- 
quire if you — you had paid the freight on these boxes. 

Mrs. C. I have no reply to make. (Exit d. f.) 

Com. Phew ! 1 feel crushed (sits at table) (trying to laugh) 
Ha-ha-ha- ; I don’t care ; it’s a good joke (laughing very 
weakly) ha-ha (picks up pen ) I must work (starts to write) 
Mer. entering d. r. cn tiptoe t still in clown's costume) 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


23 


Com. ( throwing pen on floor') Confound it ! I have no 
ideas. 

Mer. Shew ! That’s nothing new. Don’t make such a 
noise, old man ; you’ll waken him. 

Com. Waken whom ? 

Mer. Your uncle ; I left him in the smoking-room, trying 
to raise the roof. My, how he does snore. I was telling 
him one of my best stories, too, and would you believe it, 
he fell fast asleep. 

Com. That was only natural. 

Mer. Very unnatural I call it. The story was good; 
about a man, you know, that — 

Com. {interrupting) Sorry, George, but I am very busy to- 
day, please postpone your interesting tale. 

Mer. Well, I want — 

Com. No stories, George ; {aside) I have a monopoly on 
stories. 

Mer. All right then, some other time ; but I want to 
ask you about that maid-servant, I would like to — 

Com. {angrily) Hang the maid-servant ! 

Mer. Hang her! oh ! no, I — - 

Com. Then shoot her ! 

Mer. Why, Dick, old fellow, what ails you ? 

Com. Nothing. {A pause) If you really must know the 
truth about her I suppose I will have to tell you. {Aside) 
Now for another lie. {To Mer.) She is a relation of 
mine. 

Mer. Oh ! that accounts for your interest in her. 

Com. My interest ! It strikes me you show the more in- 
terest of the two. 

Mer. But how is it that she is in your employ as a ser- 
vant ? 

Com. {hesitating) Well — she is not exactly my maid. 

Mer. Your housekeeper perhaps. 

Com. {quickly) Yes, my housekeeper. {Aside) Why 
didn’t I think of that before. {To Mer.) She was poor 
and alone in the world, you know, so I thought it was only 
charitable to give her a home. I tell you this, Merrigale, so 
that in case you notice any familiarity on her part toward 
me you will understand. 

Mer. Yes, certainly. I knew she was not an ordinary 
servant; and, by the way, old man, I’m afraid you hurt her 
feelings by calling her a maid ; these poor relations are of- 
ten very sensitive, you know. 

Com. It was rather unkind, I admit. {Aside, looking off 
D. f.) Byjove! here she comes. I must keep them from 


24 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


meeting. (To Mer.) George, quick, hide yourself! ( Taking 
his arm) Here, back of this screen ! 

Mer. What’s the matter, old man ? 

Com. My — my housekeeper is coming. 

Mer. I don’t mind meeting her. 

Com. Yes, but I — I wish to apologize to her, and I would 
rather do it without your assistance. Make haste ! (Pushes 
Mer. back of screen ) (Enter Mrs. C. d. f. — Com. lea?is 
against table arid looks in another direction .) 

Mrs. C. (after pause, pleadingly) Dick! 

Com. Please don’t call me Dick. You know I never 
like you to call me by my first name before company, I — I 
mean when we have company. 

Mrs. C. Why, Dick! 

Com. There you go again. 

Mrs. C. You know I always call you “ Mr. Comfort ” 
before people, but (looking around ) — but there’s no one 
here. 

Com. (quickly) Of course there isn’t. (Nervously) Who — * 
who said there was ? 

Mrs. C. Oh 1 won’t you tell me what is the matter ? 
What have I done ? Are you ill ? 

Com. No, certainly not. 

Mrs. C. Then why do you act so strangely? Why did 
you call me a maid ? 

Com. That was a mistake, a lapsus lingua — I — I am 
sorry. 

Mrs. C. Won’t you kiss me and tell me you love me ? 

Com. (coughs nervously) Why, of course not ; I — I 
couldn’t do that. 

Mrs. C. (beginning to cry) Don’t you love me, Dick ? 

Com. (aside) What will George think of this? (To 
Mrs. C.) Now you mustn’t act that way. Wc have talked 
this matter over before, and you know my feelings toward 
you perfectly well ; it would not only be utterly useless for 
me to tell you that I loved you, but — a — but under the cir- 
cumstances, ridiculous. 

Mrs. C. (stopping crying) I see it all ; you do not love 
me. You sent me out of the house so that you could make 
love to another woman. Who was that woman ? (Beco?n- 
ing excited) You are afraid to tell me. 

Com. You ought to know who she is. 

Mrs. C. You have forgotten the woman you once loved. 
You have forgotten her whom you promised to — 

Com. I promised nothing ; you are talking nonsense. . 

Mrs. C. Oh ! of course, you say so. 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


25 


Com. I am perfectly willing to tell you who the lady 
was. 

Mrs. C. I do not wish to hear. 

Com. But I want to — 

Mrs. C. I won’t listen to you (goes toward d. l. i). 

Com. But you must. 

Mrs. C, I won’t. (Exit d. l. i, shuts and locks door.) 

Mer. (coming from behind screen) Has she gone. I’m 
glad you hid me, old fellow. 

Com. (dryly] So am 1. 

Mer. She appeared slightly agitated; what have you 
been doing to worry her so ? 

Com. Nothing whatever ; it is simply a woman’s whim. 

Mer. Ah! that accounts for it; I never could under- 
stand these wqmen. But say, old man, don’t you think you 
are a little hard on her, she seems very fond of you. 

Com. (indifferently) You think so? 

Mer. Yes, judging from appearances. 

Com. That’s just the trouble. I don’t object to her being 
fond of me — in fact, I rather admire her taste — but I don’t 
like her to show it. (Aside) Not to-day at least. 

Mer. But don’t you think you ought to make some 
allowance ? Perhaps she is naturally of a suspicious nature, 
and possessing a deep feeling for you — as her benefactor 
you know — she is jealous when you show attention to 
others. 

Com. But I am not attentive to others. 

Mer. Perhaps not, Dickie, perhaps not ; you used to be, 
you know. 

Com. (angrily) Confound it ! Merrigale, I know more 
about this matter than you. 

Mer. Well you ought to. 

Com. (aside) I wish I didn’t. (To Mer.) And your advice 
is not asked or wanted. 

Mer. Now, don’t get angry, old man; no offense in- 
tended, I assure you. 

Com. Well, please drop the subject, once and for all. 

Mer. Certainly, if you wish it. (E?iter Harris d. f.) 

Har. The man wants to know, sir, how long he-has to 
wait before you pay him, sir. 

Com. What man ? 

H ar. The man ’as brought them boxes, sir ; he’s waited 
ever since he came. 

Com. Of course he has, you idiot. 

Har. Yes, sir. 

Com. I didn’t ask him to wait. 


26 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


Har. Nor me neither, sir. 

Com. Why didn’t you tell me before ? Send him up ; but 
no, I will go down. (Aside) I don’t want the fellow to blurt 
out anything about my wife, before Merrigale. (Exit Com. 
D. F.) 

Mer. Harris, where is Mrs. Meander? 

Har. I don’t know, sir ; fightin’ with her husband, I 
reckon. 

Mer. Her what ! 

Har. Her husband, sir; maybe you thinks as Mrs. 
Meander hadn’t a husband, but she has. 

Mer. I don’t understand this. 

Har. There ain’t nothin’ to understand. 

Mer. Who is her husband? Not Dick’s — I — I mean 
Mr. Comfort’s uncle ! 

Har. Why, in course; she’s his aunt. 

Mer. But why did she change her name ? 

Har. (chuckling) I guess that’s what he often wonders, sir. 

Mer. (aside) This is very singular ; why does she take 
the name of Meander instead ol Comfort. If I could only 
have a talk with that charming housekeeper, perhaps she 
could explain matters ; there is certainly some mystery 
about Dick’s relations. 

Mer. (7<?Har.) I would like to have a few moments’ 
conversation with the housekeeper. 

Har-. (surprised) The housekeeper! We ain’t got no 
housekeeper, sir ; the house keeps itself, except when Mrs. 
Comfort keeps it. 

Mer. Mrs. Comfort! You don’t mean the old lady ? 

Har. That aint for me to say, sir, although I believe Mr. 
Comfort does call her that sometimes (laughs). 

Mer. But I didn’t know she lived here. 

Har. Not live here ! She’s here most of the time, sir, 
except when she’s away. She stays in town sometimes, sir. 

Mer. (aside) No wonder Dick is worried; I suppose 
these two women quarrel all the time. (To Har.) Where 
is the maid ? I wish to see her. 

Har. The maid, sir ! 

Mer.. (sharply) Yes, the house-maid ; you seem surprised 
at everything I say; Sally, I think her name is ; I thought 
she was the housekeeper. (Aside) These servants are 
always jealous of one another. 

Har. Sally ain’t no more the housekeeper than I am, 
sir. 

Mer. Well, whether she is or not, I wish to see her; 
tell her to come here. 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 2 ^ 

Har. Yes, sir. ( Aside) What’s he want with Sally I 
wonder. (Exit Harris d. l. 2.) 

Mer. Very mysterious, very! (Enter Mean. d. r.) 
(Aside) Here conies old Comfortable, evidently just 
awakened. (To Mean.) Well, sir, did you succeed ? 

Mean, (sharply) Succeed! Succeed in what? 

Mer. In raising the roof; I left you hard at work. Your 
efforts certainly merited success. 

Mean. Your words are meaningless. You left me very 
abruptly, interrupting my remarks in an extremely rude 
manner, sir. 

Mer. (laughing) Ha-ha-ha, what are you talking about? 
It was you who interrupted my remarks. You snored so 
loudly that I had to stop my story — it was a good one, 
too. 

Mean. Snore! I never snore, sir ; never! 

Mer. (sarcastically) Of course not; I suppose you never 
fall asleep either. You were not napping in the smoking- 
room, were you ? 

Mean. Certainly not, sir; certainly not. No doubt you 
were asleep yourself. 

Mer. Yes, no doubt, and dreamed that I was you ; what 
nonsense ! All I have to say is, that if what I heard isn’t a 
sample of your snoring powers, I don’t care to hear one. 
(Aside) Thunder storms always frighten me. (To Mean.) 
No wonder you and your wife are always quarreling. 

Mean, (angrily) How dare you make slighting remarks 
in reference to my family affairs ! You know nothing about 
such matters. 

Mer. No, I’m a bachelor. 

Mean. That accounts for your ignorance ; how true it 
is, “ He jests at scars who never felt a wound.” (Musingly) 
A bachelor ! How sweet the word sounds. Young man, 
in order that you may learn never to jest about matrimonial 
affairs, I will tell you a story. (Sits.) 

Mer. You wouldn’t listen to mine. 

Mean. Yours was told to provoke laughter and mirth, 
mine teaches a good and wholesome lesson. 

Mer. (aside) Evidently nothing witty is to be expected 
(sits). 

Mean. The story is a sad and doleful one ; short, but fuk 
of pathos. 

Mer. (aside, taking out handkerchief) The prospect is 
gloomy. 

Mean. Long ago — (musingly) How long it seems 

Mer. How long ago did you say ? 


28 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


Mean. I did not say. Long ago, a young man, then At 
the age of thirty-five. 

Mer. {aside) A mere child. 

Mean. Met an attractive young widow — 

Mer (i interrupting ) Fell in love, they were married and 
lived happily ever after; moral, always marry widows; 
those stories are all alike. 

Mean. ( with dignity) You will be kind enough not to 
interrupt. It is true, the young man fell desperately in 
love. 

Mer. {half aside) Of course, they all do. 

Mean. His love was returned — 

Mer. C. O. D. ? 

Mean, {angrily) Your jesting is exceedingly malapropos, 
sir. You will kindly allow me to finish my story in my own 
way. 

Mer. Certainly, sir, this is your story. 

Mean. You seem to have forgotten the fact. As I re- 
marked, the young man’s affection was reciprocated. 

Mer. {aside) The widow was evidently a Republican. 

Mean. They were married, but contrary to all expecta- 
tions, they did not live happily. 

Mer {aside) An exceptional case. 

Mean. The wife did her utmost to provoke the hus- 
band’s wrath. 

Mer. Of course the wife was to blame for everything. 

Mean. Certainly, sir ! for everything ! 

Mer. {sarcastically) They always are. 

Mean. Always. She had been so accustomed to manag- 
ing-her first husband — who was an invalid — that she ex- 
pected “ number two ” to yield everything also. 

Mer. But “ number two ” thought differently. 

Mean. Yes, sir, very differently. He doesn’t yield every- 
thing; oh no! far from it. {Rises.) 

Mer. That is certainly a tale of woe. 

Mean. ( impressively ) Young man, I stand before you the 
living example of what an unhappy married life will do. 
{Slowly and solemnly) I married that widow. 

Mer. Well, judging from appearances, I should hardly 
call you a happy man. 

Mean. Far from it, and yet I have my happy moments. 

Mer. Impossible ! 

Mean. These quarrels with my wife are only occasional, 
and when the eagle of gory war has taken his flight ana 
the white dove of peace once again hovers over our lives, 
then we are happy as oi yore. 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


29 


Mer. Well, if I were you, I would wring that gory ea- 
gle’s neck and cage the dove of peace ; then you could keep 
it by you. 

Mean. Your metaphors are mixed. 

Mer. Perhaps they are ; I don’t often dabble in meta- 
phors. ( Enter Mrs. M. d. l. 2 .) 

Mean. Many times have 1 regretted that I ever married. 
I was a young fool then. 

Mrs. M. Yes — you’re older now. (Mean and Mer. 
start.) 

Mer. {aside) Now for a scene. Perhaps I can prevent 
one. {To Mrs. M.) Madam, your husband was just speak- 
ing of you. 

Mrs. M. {dryly) Yes, I heard it. 

Mer. But — a — madam, you misunderstand; I meant 
favorably of course, favorably. 

Mrs. M. It sounded so. 

Mer. He was saying how sad he felt that husband and 
wife were always quarreling. 

Mean. I said nothing of the kind, Merriblow. 

Mer. Well — of — a — of course not those words exactly, 
but — a — they — had that meaning, I’m sure they had. 

Mrs. M. Young man, I am not in need of an interpreter, 
my hearing is still good, and I wish to say, that the name 
denoting foolishness, is, in my opinion, very appropriate to 
this — this person ; if he had called himself an idiot, he would 
have spoken the truth also. 

Mean. Merriblow, she is a good judge of idiots. 

Mrs. M. I ought to be. 

Mean. That’s so, she ought to be. 

Mer. My dear friends, this is terrible, do try to control 
yourselves. 

Mean. I have no doubt I was an idiot when I married. 

Mrs. M. And never got over it. 

Mean. Ha-ha. I suppose you, I mean she, thinks that 
awfully funny. 

Mrs. M. He seems to enjoy it. It is exceedingly ap- 
propriate' for nobody to laugh at nothing. 

Mean. She calls herself “ nothing ; ” I was trying to laugh 
at her. 

Mrs. M. He couldn’t find a better subject. 

Mean. No, not to laugh at. {Enter Comfort d. f.) 

Mer. My dear, sir, for the love of peace, do be calm ; 
these remarks will only create trouble. {Sees Com.) Ah. 
Dick, do try and pacify your uncle and aunt, they have 
been — a — been misunderstanding each other. 


30 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


Mrs. M. You were not asked to interfere, sir. 

Mean. The matter does not concern you in the least. 

Mer. Thank Heaven, there is one point upon which you 
agree. 

Mer. ( aside Com.) Dick, can’t you reconcile them ? 

Com. ( aside to Mer.) Suppose you withdiaw and 1 will 
try the part of peacemaker. 

Mer. ( aside to Com.) I wish you luck; I will go clothe 
myself in my own garments — they must be ready for me by 
this time — these are becoming a little too monotonous. 
{Exit Mer. d. l. 2.) 

Com. Uncle Meander, wouldn’t you like to go in the 
smoking-room and — 

Mean. ( interrupting ) No, I wouldn’t ; I don’t smoke, I 
told you, and I have spent far too much valuable time in . 
that room for one day. 

Com. Well, then, one of these other rooms ( pointing to 
the left). 

Mean. No, that is the enemy’s country. 

Mrs. M. Richard, there is no necessity for him to with- 
draw ; I consider my time too valuable to waste here. 

Com. My dear aunt, I do not wish to disturb you, 

I— 

Mrs. M. It will be a pleasure to go ; there are some un- 
pleasant remembrances, Richard, which one is glad to leave 
behind. ( Exit Mrs. M. d. l. 2, haughtily') 

Mean. That cut was meant for me. (. Laughs iveakly) 

Com. {after pause) Uncle, don’t you think it a pity that 
you and Aunt Clementina quarrel so continually ? 

Mean. Yes, Richard, I am willing to confess I do think 
it a pity. But we do not quarrel continually, oh no ! only 
occasionally. This happens to be a little stronger than 
usual, that’s all. Still, I think it a pity, a great pity. 

Com. Then why do you do it ? 

Mean. I don’t ; it isn’t my fault. 

Com. Oh ! that’s always the way ! 

Mean. Yes, always. 

Com. Adam started the fashion by blaming Eve, and 
ever since then husbands have been unwilling to think 
themselves in the wrong. 

Mean. Then it is Adam’s fault. 

Com. I’ve no doubt you are to blame just as much as 
Aunt Clementina. 

Mean. Well, perhaps you are right. I do not enjoy 
being at enmity with my wife, but — a — 

Com. But you do not know how to 'alter matters? I’ll 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 31 

tell you. Go to Aunt Clementina, tell her that you are sorry 
for what has happened and — 

Mean. ( interrupting ) Oh ! I couldn’t do that. 

Com. It is the only way. 

Mean. Imagine my telling her I was sorry ; the shock 
would kill her. 

Com. Oh ! no, not so bad as that, although no doubt it 
would be a surprise. 

Mean. I should say so. 

Com. A pleasant one, though. Come now, uncle, prove 
to her it is the unexpected that always happens ; that 
there is something new under the sun. 

Mean. Richard, my boy, I believe you are right. ( Taking 
his hand) I’ll try it. You ought to be a married man ; I 
believe you would make a good one. 

Com. {eagerly)- You think so. 

Mean. But, you’re not married, and I guess it’s just as 
well. {Enter Sally d. f.) 

Sal. I come as soon as I could lave my work, sor. 

Mean, {angrily) Who asked you to come at all ! In my 
opinion the sooner you “ lave ” here the better. 

Sal. I knows thim as doesn’t ask ye’re opinion. {To 
Com.) I was informed thet there circus clown was aftei 
wantin’ to say me, sor. 

Mean. Well, he’s “after wantin’ to say” you now, so, 
Sally, you may leave the room. 

Sal. Me name’s not Sally, me name’s “ Sarie ” in 
Frinch. 

Mean. I don’t care what you’re name is in “Frinch” 
or Chinese or any other , language ; it’s Sally in English. 
{Enter Mrs. M. d. l. 2.) 

Mrs. M. Sarah, go pack my bag instantly ! 

Sal. Why, mum, I thought — 

Mrs. M. No matter what you thought ; instantly ! do you 
hear ! 

Sal. Yes’m, I ’ears. {Exit d. l. 2.) 

Mean. My dear Clementina, I want to — 

Mrs. M. {snappishly) Hold your tongue, sir ; how dare 
you call me by my maiden name ! 

Mean, {aside to Com.) Now, whose fault was that? 

Com. {aside to Mean.) Don’t you see she is in a temper ? 

Mean, {aside to Com.) That’s nothing unusual. 

Com. {aside to Mean.) You ought to speak toiler when 
she can listen to reason. 

Mean, {aside to Com.) She never can. 

Com. Not now, while she is excited. {To Mrs. M.) My 


32 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


dear aunt, why do you wish your bag packed? You are not 
going to leave, are you ? 

Mrs. M. ( sarcastically ) Oh ! certainly not, I expect to stay 
forever. 

Com. {aside) I hope not. {Aside io Mean.) Uncle, I think 
you had better retire, until the storm blows over ; come 
with me into the garden. {To Mrs. M.) Aunt Clementina, 
you will excuse us, while I show uncle the grounds ? 

Mean. Just as you think best Richard, I shall go and get 
my hat. {Exitv>. R.) 

Mrs. M. I think a little air would do your uncle much 
good. 

Com. {aside) It is easy enough to play the part of a sign- 
post and point the way of peace to unhappy couples, but 
unfortunately the sign-post remains in the same spot. I 
wish some one would show me the way to peace with my 
wife. {E?iter Mean. d. r.) (7<?Mean.) Are you ready, uncle. 
{Exit Mean and Com. d. f.) 

Mrs. M. I can’t endure it, and I sha’n’t endure it. I shall 
not remain here to be insulted. He treats me shamefully, 
outrageously ! Poor dear Mr. Barnes nev£r treated me so. 
And then he blames me for everything when it is always his 
fault. If he would only acknowledge that he is in the wrong 
I could forgive him, but unless he does, we shall be 
strangers forever. {Enter Mrs. C. d. l. i.) 

Mrs. C. {not perceiving Mrs. M.) I must see him. 

Mrs. M. {sharply) See whom ? 

Mrs. C. {stat'tmg — aside) That woman here ! 

Mrs. M. {aside) Sarah should have packed my bag by 
this time. {To Mrs. C.) Just run up to my room and tell my 
maid I wish to see her, will you ? 

Mrs. C. {haughtily) I am not accustomed to receive com- 
mands from strangers. 

Mrs. M. {sarcastically) Oh! you are not? {aside) We’ll 
see as to that. {To Mrs. C.) What difference does it make 
whether I am a stranger to you or not ? As long as I am 
in Mr. Comfort’s house and — 

Mrs. C. What right have you to be here ? 

Mrs. M. What right! You are impudence personified! 
I have every right ! What business is it of yours ? 

Mrs. C. {quietly) I think Mr. Comfort has made it my 
business. 

Mrs. M. Made it your business ! it’s false ! go, do as I 
bid you immediately ! do you hear ! 

Mrs. C. And what right have you to give me orders ? 

Mrs. M. Mr. Comfort has certainly given me a right. I 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


33 


am a very dear relation of his ; {half aside ). I am sure his 
dearest relation. 

Mrs. C. It isn’t true ! you came here just to make 
trouble ; you can’t deny it ! you are trying to win his affec- 
tion from me ; but you can’t succeed, he loves me, and me 
alone. 

Mrs. M. Loves you! {aside) The girl must be crazy. 
{To Mrs. C.) Come, I have heard enough; I shall report 
what you have said to Mr. Comfort. You are presumptuous 
beyond all words ! 

Mrs. C. {excitedly) You shall not remain in this house 
another moment ; go ! go I say ! Leave instantly ! {calling) 
Harris ! 

Mrs. M. Do you, a mere servant, a common maid, dare 
to address me in this manner! I shall report you im- 
mediately; we will see which one shall leave; you or I — 
we’ll see. {Exit d. l. 2.) 

Mrs. C. That woman shall leave, {calling) Harris! {Enter 
Har. d. f.) 

Har. Yes, sir, I — mean ma’am. 

Mrs. C. Where is Mr. Comfort ? 

Har. In the garding, watchin’ the rosebugs, as it were, 
ma’am. 

Mrs. C. Tell him I wish to see him right away. 

Har. He’s showing the old gentleman around the ground, 
ma’am ; pointin’ out the beauties of the spot, as he said, 
ma’am, the perspective on one thing an’ another, as it were. 

Mrs. C. Did you hear me! I desire to see him im- 
mediately. 

Har. Yes, sir, I— I mean ma’am. {Aside) I’m afeared 
we’re goin to ’ave a squall. {Exit d. f.) 

Mrs. C. Dick must send her away, or I shall 'go. Can 
it be that he no longer loves me ? That he cares for this 
other woman ? I hate her ! I never was so unhappy in ah 
my life ; but sooner than remain and see him make love to 
another, I will separate from him forever. I will if it kills ! 
( Throws herself into a chair and cries) {E?iter Sally d. l. 2 
— bringing bag) 

Sally {throwing bag 071 floor) There’s her auld packed 
bag. I'm jist wurked to dith, thet’s what I am. {seeing Mrs. 
C.) Yez lazy crature ! settin’ round a’ doin’ nothin’. Where’s 
Mr. Comfort? (Mrs. Comfort stops crying) What yez 
cryin’ about ; yez big blubberin’ baby yez. Where’s Mr. 
Comfort, I asked yez ? 

Mrs. C. {wiping her eyes) How dare you speak to me 
so ? 


3 


34 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


Sally. How dare me ! ha-ha— did yez iver hear the 
loike of that ! how dare me ! I dare spake to yez or iny 
other man loike yez, jist as I think bist, an the sooner yez 
know that, the bitter it’ll be for yez. 

Mrs. C. ( rising ) Leave the room instantly ! 

Sally. An’ thet’s jist what I’ll do, but not from iny of 
yez tellin’ me. I’m glad to git out of the soight of the loikes 
of yez. I’ll tell on yez, niver be afeared of thet ! 

Mrs. C. Leave, do you hear ! 

Sally. The missus will know that yez wouldn’t till a 
leddy where Mr. Comfort were ; yez great big overdressed, 
blubberin’ baby yez. Why don’t yez driss loike a female 
maid thet yez be, an’ not be a-puttin’ on airs loike a leddy 
thet yez aren’t. I’ll tell on yez ! ( Exit d. l. 2.) 

Mrs. C. What does this mean ? 

Sally {without) Git out of me way, yez circus clown yez. 
{Enter Mer. d. l. 2, dressed in own suit.) 

Mer. {looking off D. l. 2) A very impudent maid ! there is 
too much French about her, that’s the trouble ; now if she 
were only Irish she might not be so exuberant and— a — 
and hilarious. {Seeing Mrs. Com. confused) I — I beg your 
pardon, madam, I — I should say miss ; I beg your pardon ; 
do I — do I intrude ? I — I was looking for Dick — Mr. Com- 
fort, you know. {Aside) What a refined looking girl. 

Mrs. C. I expect Mr. C. here presently ; may I — may I 
ask your name ? 

Mer. Certainly, ma’am, certainly. {Aside) Charming man- 
ners ; Dick is a brute. {A pause .) 

Mrs. C. And pray what is your name ? 

Mer. Merrigale, madam, I — I mean miss, Mr. George 
Merrigale. 

Mrs. C. Mr. Merrigale! why I have frequently heard 
Mr. Comfort speak of you ; you are an old friend of his, 
are you not ? 

Mer. I flatter myself to that extent. 

Mrs. C. {hesitating) Then as a friend, perhaps — perhaps 
you will tell me whether you have noticed anything peculiar 
in his actions to-day ; do you think he has been working 
too hard ? 

Mer. Yes, no doubt that is it; been working too hard 
of course ; hard work will tell on the best of us, you know , 
I never could stand it. {Aside) I think Dick is going crazy 
myself, but it wouldn’t do to tell her so. 

Mrs. C. He has been acting so strangely toward me, 
ever since early this morning ; he has never been this way 
before. I was beginning to fear that he cared for — that it 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 35 

was some other — trouble, but it can’t be that, ch no ! it can’t 
be that. It must be overwork. 

Mer. Of course ; Dick always was a hard worker. 

Mrs. C. You — you never thought — I — I mean you never 
noticed that he — he cared for — I should say, was attentive 
to any woman, did you ? 

Mer. Well no, not recently ; but to speak the truth, Dick 
was once very much in love with — 

Mrs. C. In love ! with whom ? 

Mer. ( quickly ) Oh ! that was sometime — a very long time 
ago. Some think he got over it, in fact, he himself told me 
only to-day that he cared for no woman, but I do not 
believe it. I know more about this matter than people 
imagine and I have overheard some things which make 
me certain that Dick loves her still. 

Mrs. C. ( excitedly ) It’s false, sir! I do not believe a word 
of it ; you know it is untrue ! 

Mer. {aside) By jove ! what an idiot I am to tell her this. 
{To Mrs. C ) No, of course not, certainly it isn’t true. I’ve 
no doubt the whole story is entirely without foundation 
{Enter Mrs. M. d. l. 2 .) 

Mrs. M. So you refused to tell my maid where Mr. Com- 
fort was, did you ? You shall pay for it ! I shall seek him 
myself, and when I find him you shall leave the house. 
{Exit D. F.) 

Mrs. C. {half aside ) That woman again! she maddens 
me ! {To Mer.) Tell me, who is she ? do you know ? 

Mer. Why, that’s Mrs. Comfort ! 

Mrs. C. Mrs. Comfort? you are deceiving me ? 

Mer. No, I am sure of it. 

Mrs. C. It’s not true! I am Mrs: Comfort. 

Mer. {astonished) You , Mrs. Comfort ! I — 1 did not know 
you were married. {Enter Com., Mrs. M. and Mean. d. f.) 

Mrs. C. I repeat, sir, I am Richard Comfort’s wife. 

Mer. Dick’s wife! 

Mrs. M. What’s this? 

Mrs. C. (i turning ) There stands my husband i«id having 
a legal right as his wife, I demand that that woman {points 
to Mrs. M.) leave the house. Tableau . 


Curtain . 


Act III, 


SCENE. — Same as Act I and II. 

(Mer. discovered front of stage reading paper. ) It’s of 
no use. ( Lays paper dow?i) My thoughts will wander. 
I will make one more mighty effort to forget the past. 
( Takes up paper upside-down and attempts to read) I can’t 
do it. I have lost all interest in the news of the day ; 
even prize fights have no charm. What can it all mean ? 

Dick’s wife 1 He declared he was unmarried. It seems 
to be only a question of which one is to be believed; 
the benefit of the doubt belongs to the lady. Perhaps he 
is ashamed of her, but why ? I don’t understand it. (As 
if struck by a sudden thought) By jove ! I see it ! Dick 
must have married his maid and naturally is ashamed to 
confess it, especially as his uncle seems averse to his marry- 
ing. He can’t have been married very long, for it has only 
been about a year since he was engaged to — a — that other 
girl. What was her name ? I have forgotten it. No doubt 
she heard of his attentions to this maid and broke the en- 
gagement. (Enter Har. d. f.) 

Har. Did you see Sally, sir? I sent her to you. 

Mer. Yes, I saw her ; where is Mrs. Comfort ? 

Har. I don’ know where she is just now, sir ; with Mr. 
Comfort, I reckon ; they has had a little squall, sir, as it 
were. 

Mer. I don’t mean Mr. Comfort’s aunt. 

Har. I didn’t think as you did, sir ; I didn’t, nuther. 

Mer. (aside) Can it be that he doesn’t know Dick is 
married ; l»must go cautiously. ( To Har.) I mean Sally ; 
the maid, you know. 

Har. Yes, sir, I know Sally’s the maid. You said Mrs. 
Comfort, sir. I reckon Mr. Comfort wouldn’t like to have 
his wife called a maid ; leastways I wouldn’t. 

Mer. No, of course he wouldn’t. 

Har. But you did it, sir; you asked me where Mrs. 
Comfort were and then said you meant Sally. 

Mer. (aside) He evidently suspects nothing; Dick is 
,keeping*it a close secret. 

36 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


37 


Har. Mrs. Comfort doesn’t look any more like Sally, 
sir, then I look like a ton of coal. 

Mer. Mrs. who ? 

Har. Yes, sir. 

Mer. What did you say ? 

Har. Like a ton of coal, sir. 

Mer. No, no ; who was the person that was unlike 
Sally ? 

Har. Mrs. Comfort, sir. 

Mer. You mean old Mrs. Comfort, of course. 

Har. She aint old, sir. 

Mer. Well, that’s a matter of opinion. 

Har. She’s young and pretty. 

Mer. Pretty! That’s a matter of opinion also. (Aside) 
The idea of calling Dick’s aunt young and pretty. ( To 
Har.) I can’t say, Harris, that I admire your taste. 

Har. Why Mr. Comfort wouldn’t never have married 
her, if he hadn’t thought her pretty, sir, no more than I 
wouldn’t. 

Mer. The old man drew a blank then, that is to say, as 
far as her looks are concerned. 

Har. The old man, sir ! 

Mer. (angrily') Yes, the old man; are you deaf? 

Har. What do you mean, sir. 

Mer. What in the thunder do you mean? Why you’re 
dumb, jackassly dumb ! 

Har. Just as you say, sir, (aside) it strikes me he’s the 
dumb one ; what’s he mean by “ old Mr. Comfort ?” ( To 
Mer.) I was talking about Mr. Richard, sir. 

Mer. No, you weren’t ; you said Mr. Comfort’s wife 
didn’t look like Sally. 

Har. Neither she do, sir. 

Mer. Great scott! man ! do you know who his wife is? 

Har. In course I do ; I’ve knowed who she is for 
nigh on a year. 

Mer. A year ! Not a year! 

Har. Yes, sir, ever since they was engaged and long 
afore it was told to nobody, sir. I always did like Miss 
Edith. 

Mer. Edith! Edith who! 

Har. I said Miss Edith, sir ; Miss Edith Barley in 
course ; leastways that were her name afore she married 
Mr. Comfort. 

Mer. Edith Barley ! that was the girl Dick was engaged 

to. 

Har. In course, sir — that’s what I said. 


38 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


Mer. Bat he is married — {hesitates) 

Har. Certainly, sir, I said that too.- 

Mer. {aside) That is terrible ! evidently this fellow does 
not know the truth. {To Har.) And where is Mrs. Comfort 
now ? 

Har. Don’t know where she is just now, sir ; reckon she’s 
somewhere around. She’s almost always to home, except 
when she is in town at her mother’s, sir, and she’s there* 
pretty regular every week, as it were. 

Mer. {aside) I must see Dick, and receive an explana- 
tion. {To Har.) Tell Mr. Comfort I wish to have an inter- 
view with him. 

Har. Yes. sir. (Aside) He seems to like to interview 
folks. (Exit d. F.) 

Mer. Two wives! I always thought Dick a little gay, 
but this is carrying gayety to an extreme ; it is positively 
festive. Terrible [.disgraceful ! and Dick swore he was un- 
married too. (Enter Mean, and Mrs. M. d. l. 2.) 

Mean. My dear Clementine, I agree with you in every- 
thing. 

Mer. (aside) Another wonder! I will speak to him 
about Dick. 

Mean. What you say is certainly true ; Richard must 
explain matters. 

Mer. Just what I was thinking, sir. 

Mean, (seeing Mer. — sharply) And what right have you 
to think anything ? 

Mer. What right, sir! I think — 

Mean. Entirely too much. 

Mrs. M. Entirely! 

Mean. You think it your duty to interfere in everyone’s 
business, and do your utmost to make trouble between my 
wife and me. 

Mer. Oh! pardon me, sir, I tried to smooth matters — 

Mean. Smooth your grannie ! there was nothing to 
smooth. 

Mrs. M. Certainly not ! you cannot smooth the placid 
mirror-like waters of a limpid lake. 

Mean. And a lot of wind only ruffles the surface. 

Mer. Yes, of course, but I was trying to pour oil on the 
already ruffled waters. 

Mean. Your attempt was a failure. 

Mer. (half aside) I am aware of that fact. 

Mean. A rip-saw cannot smooth. 

Mer. I never imagined it could, sir. 

Mrs. M. (sharply) Then don’t try it. 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


39 


Mer. Thanks, I won’t. (Aside) They seem in a 
strangely agreeable mood. (To Mean.) My dear sir, 
there is a little matter — 

Mean. I have no time for trifles. 

Mer. If your wife would kindly withdraw I — 

Mean. My wife withdraw ! Never! 

Mrs. M. Nothing shall ever part us. 

Mer. (aside) Then I won’t attempt it. A very loving 
couple. ( To Mean.) I am extremely glad to see you such 
a happy family, but — - 

Mean. I have no secrets from my wife. 

Mrs. M. (to Mer.) If it be necessary for some one to 
withdraw you may do so. (S*ts c.) 

Mean. We give you our full permission. (Enter Com. 
d. l. i.) 

Com. (aside) She refuses to be reconciled. 

Mer. Ah! Dick! I wish to speak to you about — about 
something. 

Mean. Richard, I would like to have a few moments of 
your valuable time. 

Com. I seem to be in demand. 

Mer. Dick, if you’ll come into the smoking-room we — 

Mean. You will remain here, sir ! 

Mer. But I sent for him and I think — 

Mean. Your thoughts are worthless. 

Com. (aside) I evidently have no choice in the matter. 

Mean. As Richard’s uncle, I certainly have a right to 
the first interview. 

Com. (aside) I had better remain and do my best to 
weather the storm. (To Mer.) Uncle is * right, and as in 
all other things, T will try to please him in this. 

Mean. It is well that you know your duty. Sit down ! 

Com. I am not tired, sir. 

Mean. Sit down, I say ! (Sits R. c.) 

Com. (aside) The storm is going to be a heavy one. 
(Sits l. c. Mer. stands by left side of Mean, chair) 

Mean. Richard, I desire an explanation, I demand 
one ! 

Com. In any way that I can be of assistance, sir — in 
what — 

Mean. You need ask no questions, sir, leave that to me. 
My wife has been insulted. 

Mrs. M. Insulted by a common house-maid. 

Com. Impossible ! 

Mean. \a?igrily) What do you mean, sir! you know it 
is possible ! very possible ! I demand an explanation. 


40 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


Com. (aside) It is to be a thunder storm. (7 <?Mean.) 
Why, uncle, / didn’t insult her. 

Mean. You did, sir! or if you didn’t you allowed it to 
be done, which is the same thing. 

Mrs. M. Precisely ! the maid is in your employ. 

Com. Yes, she is in — - 

Mrs. M. She must get out. 

Com. But, my dear Aunt — 

Mrs. M. You refuse to dismiss her? (Aside to Mean.) 
There may be some truth in our suspicions. 

Mean. Richard, there is another matter. 

Com. (aside) The storm is about to burst. 

Mean. You know my wishes in regard to marrying, or 
rather to your not marrying. What did that maid mean by 
calling herself your wife ? 

Com. I’m sure I can’t say, sir. 

Mer. Why, Dick, you know — 

Mean. Who asked you to interrupt, sir ? (To Com.) 
Richard, how can -you account for what she said? 

Com. I — I cank account for it; she must be weak- 
minded. 

Mer. (aside) What a liar he is ! 

Mean. You say then that you are not married to that 
maid ? 

Com. I am married to no maid.- 

Mer. Dick, how can you stand there and — 

Mean. Mind your own business, sir! (Rises) What 
affair is it of yours whether Richard is standing or sitting ? 
What difference would it make to you if he were married 
to ten thousand maids ? 

Mrs. M. He has a right to marry whom he pleases — 

Mean. Without consulting you ? 

Com. (aside) I came out of that storm with great credit ; 
I had better withdraw before the wind blows from some 
unexpected quarter. (Rises) ( To Mer.) What was it you 
wished to say to me, George ? 

Mer. If you don’t mind, we will adjourn to the smoking 
room. I — I imagine your uncle and aunt do not appreciate 
my society. 

Mrs. M. Remember, Richard, you must dismiss that 
maid. 

Mean. Yes, I do not propose that my wife shall be in- 
sulted. 

Com. (aside) Dismiss my own wife ! What am I to do ? 
(Exeunt Mer. and Com. d. r.) 

Mrs. M. I cannot understand it. That woman distinctly 


PETWEEN THE ACTS. 


41 


said that Richard was her husband. What object did she 
have in saying so ? 

Mean. It does seem mysterious, my dear {sits r. c.) ; but 
Richard vows there is no truth in it — you heard him — and 
vve certainly should believe our nephew before a common 
kitchen-maid. No doubt, as he says, the girl is weak- 
minded. Perhaps she wishes to marry him, and the wish 
being the father to the thought, she thinks herself married. 

Mrs. M. But if she be crazy, why does Richard retain 
her ? 

Mean. Can’t imagine, my dear ; but she shall not remain ; 
l will see to it. I sha’n’t allow strangers to insult my wife. 

Mrs. M. But you would allow acquaintances? 

Mean. Certainly not, my dear. 

Mrs. M. And you will never quarrel with me again ? 

Mean! Never again ; but it takes two to make a quarrel, 
you know. 

Mrs. M. More often, one. 

Mean. Oh ! no, one cannot quarrel without the other. 

Mrs. M. But one can start a quarrel. 

Mean. Yes, that is true ; but the past is forgiven, I do 
not blame you, my dear. 

Mrs. M. Blame me ! I should say not; you have nothing 
to blame. 

Mean. I simply referred to our quarrels, my dear. 

Mrs. M. I was never to blame. 

Mean. Oh ! come now, Clementina, I have no doubt we 
were both — 

Mrs. M. Speak for. yourself, sir. 

Mean. You fly into a temper so easily, that it is utterly 
useless to try to reason with you. 

Mrs. M. Yes, for you to attempt to reason ; you can’t do 
it. 

Mean. My dear Clementina, you must not — 

Mrs. M. Must not! I shall do as I please. {Sarcastically) 
I thought you would never quarrel with me again. Oh no/ 
never again ! The truth is, you have such a disagreeable 
disposition that you can’t control yourself. 

Mean. {Quietly) Then my darling — 

Mrs. M. How dare you talk so coolly! {rises) you 
hypocrite ! you know you are in a raging temper ; yes you 
are, you needn’t deny it ; I see it in your eyes. (Mean tries 
to speak) Not another word, sir! I won’t listen to you. Not 
one word! {Exit Mrs. M. d. l. 2.) 

Mean. Now was that a quarrel or not? I didn’t quarrel. 
She said she saw temper in my eyes; what’s the matter 


42 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


with my eyes ! they are not crossed. Sorry that this should 
have happened; very sorry. After such an amicable settle* 
ment of our last disagreement; but deuce take it, I’m not 
going to apologize and tell her that I was to blame for this, 
when I wasn’t. {Enter Mer. d. r.) 

Mer. {speaking out d. r.) Well, Dick, it is none of my 
business — 

Com. ( without ) Then why do you make it yours ? 

Mer. {speaking' out d. r.) But you really oughtn’t to act 
this way and you know it. 

Com. ( without ) If I know it, why do you tell me? 

Mer. {as if to himself ) He is irreclaimable, incorrigible ! 
I can do nothing with him. 

Mean. That’s not to be wondered at. 

Mer. No, you are right ; when a man becomes a biga- 
mist or a polygamist he is generally beyond recall. 

Mean. You are talking at random — mere nonsense. 

Mer. I wish I were, for Dick’s sake. 

Mean. What has Richard to do with it ? 

Mer. Simply this ; Dick denies that he is married. I 
say it is not true ! 

Mean. Of course it is untrue. 

Mer. I mean what he says is not true. Dick is not only 
married to his maid-servant, but he has another wife. 

Mean. What! Two wives! Impossible! {Rises.) 

Mer. Improbable you mean, but I fear very possible. 
That he has two wives I am certain ; the question is, where 
has he drawn the line ? Upon investigation the number 
may multiply. 

Mean. I do not believe it, sir ! Upon what grounds do 
you make such an accusation ? 

Mer. First, the maid herself — 

Mean. A weak-minded creature. 

Mer. You think so, perhaps, but judging from a conver- 
sation I overheard there is more truth in what she says than 
you imagine. 

Mean. Nonsense ! What did you hear ? 

Mer. Enough, when added to what Harris told me, to 
confirm my suspicions. 

Mean. What was that? 

Mer. Just as I have told you, that Dick has two 
wives. 

Mean. I do not believe a word of it, but — a — (. sarcastic- 
ally ) your knowledge is unlimited — who is the other one ? 

Mer. The girl Dick was engaged to a year ago. 

Mean. How’s that? The girl he was engaged to! 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 43 

Now I am sure that your suspicions are unfounded; he 
said the engagement was broken. 

Mer. Yes, but — a — any one can lie. 

Mean, (angrily*) . Hang it ! No doubt you can, but my 
nephew is no liar. What reason would he have for keep- 
ing his marriage a secret ? 

Mer. None, unless he had one wife already, or, perhaps 
he thought you would not favor it. 

Mean. Nor would I ; I often told him so. Can it be 
true ! But I will soon learn the truth. (Goes toward d. r.) 
No, it would be better to have more substantial proofs than 
those you have given me before accusing him. Where is 
this maid? I will see her first. 

Mer. I shall send her to you, sir ; you will learn that 
what I say is true. (Exit Mer. d. f.) 

Mean. This is scandalous ! simply scandalous ! But it 
can’t be true ! there must be some mistake ! two wives ! 
poor fellow ; what does he do when he quarrels with both 
of them at once, or — a — or rather when they quarrel with 
him? The storm must be terrible. (E?iter Mrs. C. d. l. 
i. Aside ) Ah, here is the maid; not a bad looking girl. 
(To Mrs. C.) My dear, I desire a few moments’ conversa- 
tion with you ; (aside) it is best to speak to her kindly. 

Mrs. C. Is this Mr. Meander, Dick’s uncle ? 

Mean. Yes, I am Mr. Comfort’s uncle. 

Mrs. C. Dick told me that you were here, but — 

Mean. Mr. Comfort, my dear ! Mr. Comfort ! You should 
not be so familiar. 

Mrs. C. I — I forgot ; but you are not company, and I 
call him “ Dick.” 

Mean. But a maid has no right — 

Mrs. C. I am not a maid ; I am Dick’s wife. Why he 
told you that I was a maid I — I do not know, unless — un- 
less he has another wife (beginning to crv). 

Mean. Now don’t cry. (Aside) What shall I do with 
her? (To Mrs. C.) Richard has no wife, I am sure of it 
(quickly) except you of course. 

Mrs. C. (crying) But he has ; I — I know it. 

Mean, (aside) When a woman k?iows a thing it is useless 
to try to convince her to the contrary. 

Mrs. C. She is in the house. I saw him making love 
to her. 

Mean. What! you saw him! here! This is outrage- 
ous ! Are you sure ? 

Mrs. C. Certain. 

Mean. My dear young woman, have you any proof 


44 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


that you are Richard’s wife — the marriage papers, for 
instance ? 

Mrs. C. I have them in my room. 

Mean. And you saw him making love to another woman ? 
The villain ! You’re sure it was a woman ? 

Mrs. C. Quite sure. 

Mean, {aside) My temper is rising rapidly to fever heat. 
What a terrible look my eyes must have in them. And so 
Richard has deceived me, has he ? Sally, are you aware — 

Mrs. C. My name is Edith, sin 

Mean. Edith ! He told me it was Sally. Another de- 
ception ! Edith, do you know how your husband makes 
his living ; what business is he in ? 

Mrs. C. None, at present, sir ; he — he told me that you 
made him an annual allowance ; is that true ? 

Mean. Alas ! too true ! But do you know the condi- 
tions of that allowance ? 

Mrs. C. No, sir. 

Mean. That he should never marry. 

Mrs. C. He did not tell me that. 

Mean. Of course he didn’t, the rascal! Still another 
deception ! And this is the way that I am to be treated by 
my own nephew ! A nephew that I have loved ! I’ll not 
stand it! He’s had his day; now I shall have mine. He’s 
had his laugh ; it is my turn, and we’ll see who will laugh 
the longest and best ; we’ll see ! 

Mrs. C. Oh, uncle ! please don’t be too severe with poor 
Dick ; for I love him still, it is not his fault, I’m sure it isn’t; 
it is that hateful, old woman ; if he will only give her up — 

Mean. And he shall give her up. I will dismiss her 
myself ; where is she ? 

Mrs. C. {throwing arms about him ) You are very kind, 
but please spare Dick. 

Mean, {aside) She’s a dear little creature. {To Mrs. 

C. ) I cannot spare him. {Enter Mrs. M. d. l. 2. horrified) 

Mrs. C. For my sake. 

Mean, {aside) What would my wife say, if she saw me 
now? {To Mrs. C.) Well, for your sake, I will try — I say 
I will try — to be less severe ; but I must speak to him. I 
shall do so now ; he is in the smoking-room. {Goes toward 

D. R.) 

Mrs. C. It is not his fault ; I am sure of it. {Exit Mean, 
d. R.) 

Mrs. M. {angrily) But it’s your fault, you — you — I don’t 
know any term strong enough for you. You are not con- 
tent with disgracing. Mr. Comfort’s good name, by calling 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


45 


yourself his wife, but you must try by underhand means to 
win the affections of another woman’s husband. 

Mrs. C. I — I do not understand you : how dare you in- 
sinuate such a thing ! 

Mrs. M. I dare speak the truth. 

Mrs. C. You know that is untrue. Once again I com- 
mand you to leave the house. 

Mrs. M. And I defy you. ( Sitting ) I shall sit down 
here and remain until I wish to go. 

Mrs. C. You refuse to leave ? 

Mrs. M. Certainly; until some one who has authority 
tells me to go. 

Mrs. C. Since you will not obey me, I shall bring some 
one whose authority you will be compelled to recognize. 
{Exit D. R.) 

Mrs. M. She is certainly crazy. ( Enter Mrs. C. and 
Mean. d. r.) 

Mean. ( aside to Mrs. C.) Where is she ? 

Mrs. C. ( aside to Mean.) Sitting there ; she refuses to 
leave. 

Mean, {aside to Mrs. C.) She does, does she? She 
won’t remain long. ( To Mrs. M. not recognizing her) You 
refuse to go at this lady’s bidding ? perhaps you will obey 
my command. Leave this house immediately and forever! 
and if you dare to — (Mrs. M. rises) my wife ! 

Mrs. M. ( very haughtily) I shall obey you ; I leave this 
house and you, now and for — ev — er. ( Exits D. L. 2) 
(Mean, sinks dejectedly into a chair l) 

Mean. My wife ! 

Mrs. C. Your wife ! Oh ! what have I done ! 

Mean. And what have I done ! 

Mrs. C. I was told that she was Mrs. Comfort ; Dick’s 
wife. 

Mean. Oh ! wretched man that I am ! This is the grand 
climax ; the final to all our quarrels ; she is going away 
forever. ( Rising — veheme?itly) She must not go! I will 
speak to her {goes toward d. l. 2) {stopping.) But she will 
not believe me ; why should she ? I wouldn’t believe my- 
self. 

Mrs. C. Oh, uncle ! I am sorry — • 

Mean. So am I, my dear, but it wasn’t your fault ; you 
were misinformed. I should have recognized my own wife. 
What is to be done! You must help me. Come, we will 
see her and try to explain matters. 

Mrs. C. But — a — 

Mean, {leading her toward d. l. 2) You must go with me, 


46 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


my dear ; she would not believe me ; come ! {Enter Mer. 
d. F.) 

Mer. Sally will be here — 

Mean. Confound Sally ! Get out of my way, sir. ( Exeunt 
Mean, and Mrs. C. d. l. 2.) 

Mer. He has evidently been having a talk with Sally, 
and from his actions rather a stormy one. ( Enter Com. 
d. R.) 

Com. {not seeing Mean.) They worry me almost crazy 
talking nonsense. 

Mer. I should think your conscience would worry you. 

Com. Why should it ? 

Mer. Perhaps you have none. 

Com. {coolly) Merrigale, I believe you’re — a — you’re a fool. 

Mer. {quietly) Thank you. 

Com. You wished to speak to me — and then asked a lot 
of rubbish about my two wives ; now what in the thunder 
do you mean ? Is it a joke ? It is a deuced poor one, and 
I fail to see the point. 

Mer. But, Dick, you can’t deny that you — 

Com. That I have two wives ? I can and do deny it. 

Mer. Oh ! of course you can. 

Com. {ayigrily) And I mean it too. I am becoming tired 
of your interference. Why did you tell my wife that I — 

Mer. You confess then that you have a wife ? 

Com. Certainly I do, but only one. 

Mer. But you denied it at first. 

Com. For reasons which do not concern you in the 
slightest degree. I did not wish my uncle to know of my 
marriage ; he was so averse to it. Now he knows every- 
thing, and a great deal more than everything, judging from 
the ridiculous way he has been talking about the crime of 
bigamy. What did you mean by telling Edith ’ ha^ an- 
other wife ? 

Mer. Edith ! I — I haven’t seen her. 

Com. That’s not true. 

Mer. But it is true, Dick ; I was talking to your other 
wife — I — I mean the maid. 

Com. Edith and the maid are one and the same ; I called 
her that to deceive uncle. 

Mer. What an idiot I am. 

Com. You certainly are. 

Mer. And I told your uncle that you had two wives. 

Com. I wondered where he learned that rubbish ; I 
thought it was not original with him. {Sarcastically) Mer- 
rigale, I am greatly indebted to you for all your trouble. 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 47 

Mer. But I — I really did not tell the maid — your wife I 
mean — that you had another wife. 

Com. You pointed out some woman — I can’t imagine 
whom — and called her “ Mrs. Comfort.” 

Mer. Yes, but I meant your aunt. 

Com. My aunt ! I have no aunt by that name. What ! you 
didn’t mean Aunt Clementina! 

Mer. The one that, called herself “ Mrs. Meander.” 

Com. Called herself “ Mrs. Meander !” that is her name. 

Mer. Not her real name ! I thought she was the wife of 
— is his name Meander? By Jove! I thought it was Com- 
fort. 

Com. Well, for a man of your years, you are the dumbest 
I have ever seen : a regular freak. 

Mer. You are right; dumb as a stone wall. 

Com. I wish you were ; you would have said less. 

Mer. I am extremely sorry, old man — 

Com. Oh ! no doubt you are — but that doesn’t help 
matters any. What is to be done ? How am I to live ? 
With the understanding that I should not marry, uncle made 
me a yearly allowance ; but no more help can be expected 
from that source. 

Mer. And it was through me that your uncle discovered 
the truth ! What an unfriendly friend I am ! 

Com. You couldn’t have done better— or rather worse — • 
if you had been my enemy. 

Mer. Oh ! don’t say that, Dick ; don’t make me feel any 
worse than I do already. 

Com. Misery loves company ; you have succeeded in 
driving me almost crazy. ( Seeing papers on table) Confound 
it ! here’s my comedy, unfinished — I had forgotten it ! 

Mer. Your what ? 

Com. My comedy ; I am writing a play. 

Mer. {aside) He has certainly gone crazy. 

Com. It should have been completed by to-night; but it 
is too late now ; it’s too late ! There have been so many 
interruptions — between the acts — that it will be impossible 
to finish it in time. A comedy ! . It should have been a 
tragedy ; then I could have played the star part. 

Mer. And it is all my fault ! I feel so miserable that I 
would gladly take poison. 

Com. Poison ! would that this glass contained it {takes 
up glass full of water , from table — -E?iter Sally d. f.) 
{excitedly) Poison ! Death by it would be welcome ! Then 
would I be at rest. Then would all these cares, worries, 
and false accusations be forever at an end. Poison ! I 


43 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


would drink it as I do this — (S ally screams — Com. lets glass 
fall) 

Sally. He’s pizaned! ( screams agaiii) Murder! Hilp 1 
( To Mer.) Why don’ yez do somethin’ an’ not stand there 
loike a post thet yez are. Hilp! Where’s the missus! I’ll 
fitch her. ( Exit Sally d. l. 2.) 

Mer. She thinks you are poisoned. (Com. stoops to pick 
iip glass) Enter Mrs. C. and Sally d. l. 2.) 

Sally. There he is, mum ; all doubled up with spasms 
inside him. 

Mrs. C. ( -running to Com.) Oh, Dick ! what have you 
done ! Why did you do it. It is all my fault. 

Com. But Edith I — - 

Mrs. C. Do not attempt to speak ; it will only weaken 
you. Sit down here {pushing him into chair) Quick ! some- 
one bring water ! 

Com. No, I object ; no more water. 

Mrs. C. But you will die. 

Com. Oh ! no, I won’t. 

Mrs. C. I implore you! do not die! live! live for my 
sake ! 

Com. Edith, I have no present intentions of dying ; I feel 
better, much better {attempts to rise). 

Mrs. C. Do not rise! Not until you have entirely re- 
covered. {Kneeling) Will you forgive me, Dick ? 

Com. Forgive you! What? 

Mrs. C. I have cruelly wronged you. I have enter- 
tained false suspicions ; but I am so sorry, can you forgive 
me f 

Com. Yes, what little I have to forgive. {Enter Mean. 
and Mrs. M. d. l. 2) But — a — but can you forgive me t 

Mrs. C. There is nothing — 

Com. Everything, Edith ! I have been a coward. I was 
afraid to tell uncle that you were my wife. Not because I 
was ashamed of you — I could never be that — but on ac- 
count of uncle’s wrath should he learn that I was married. 

Mrs. C. But it was for my sake. 

Com. Yes, for your sake ; but cowardly nevertheless. 
Oh ! why didn’t I tell you everything when we were mar- 
ried ? 

, Mrs. C. Never mind, dear ; it is all over now. 

Com. Yes, it is all over. I must seek some employment 
by which I can support you. Perhaps this play which I 
have been writing may bring me something. I cannot ex- 
pect uncle to — 

Mean, {stepping forward) No, Richard, you can expect 


BETWEEN THE ACTS. 


49 


nothing more from me. I blame you — not so much for 
marrying this dear little girl ; she’s a jewel ; by Jove ! if you 
hadn’t married her, I would have done it myself. 

Mrs. M. Sir! 

Mean. Of course I — I mean if I had not met a very fine 
woman first, my love. ( To Com.) But, Richard, I do blame 
you for not confiding everything in your wife. As you say 
— you should expect nothing from me, but — here’s my hand, 
young man {giving hand), I forgive you. 

Com. Sir ! 

Mean. For your wife’s sake. 

Com. How can I thank you ! I did not expect — 

Mean. If you had, I wouldn’t have done it. 

Mrs. M. Your wife should be a blessing to you, Richard. 

Com. She has proven herself one. 

Mer. Mrs. Meander, I think — 

Mean. Let me advise you to stop thinking in future ; it 
is a bad habit. And now, Richard, a playwright’s life is not 
a happy one ; yours should be full of happiness. Write 
plays for amusement, if you will, but when you are in 
need of the wherewithal to sustain life, draw on your uncle 
- -Between the Acts. 


Curtain , 






















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FORGET-ME-NOTS 


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A Curtain Raiser 


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FORGET-ME-NOTS 


CAST OF CHARACTERS 

H enry Seymour — A young man of dissipated habits . 
Morgan — His servant. 

Time in Playing, 20 Minutes. 


SCENE. — Any Ordinary Interior. 


PROPERTIES 

For Seymour — Hat and coat; wine-glass; revolver and 
box of cartridges. 

For Morgan — Two letters — one enclosing a bunch of 
withered flowers. 


STAGE DIRECTIONS 

The actor is supposed to face the audience. R, means 
right ; L, left ; C, centre ; R C, right of centre ; L C, left of 
centre ; R D, right door ; L D, left door. 

R RC C LC L 


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FORGET-ME-NOTS 


SCENE. — Henry Seymour’s apartments. The room in gen • 
eral disorder. Empty wine decanters and glasses o?i tab It 
down r. 

Enter Morgan, l. d. 

Morgan. ( slowly looking around the room) This can’t last 
much longer. It’ll kill him sure. To run the pace he’s been 
agoin’ for the last three months — it aint in natur’ to stand it. 
( Putting the room to order) He’s breakin’; I can see it. An’ 
how he has changed ! Why, there warn’t a merrier, kinder- 
hearted boy in all the country than Mr. Harry, and now he’s 
so quiet an’ solemn like. ( Crossing to R., stops before table 
down stage. Shaking his head) Night after night the same 
thing. Drink, drink, drink. Many’s the time I’ve laid awake 
an’ heerd ’em singin’ an’ shoutin’, while they gambled away 
their money an’ their lives. But it’ll break him ; aye, and 
it’ll break his mother’s heart — the dear, good lady ! — and 
her so fond of Mr. Harry, too ! Oh ! if Mr. Seymour hadn’t 
never drove him from home ! It warn’t right. It was Mr. 
Harry’s bad friends what made him begin to spend his 
money. Mr. Harry aint bad, but he aint to be drove ; he’s 
too proud for that. ( Going to R. d., callmg softly) Mr. 
Harry ! ( A slight pause. Aside) If I could persuade him 

to go home! I’ve got a mind to ask him. Yes, I will — 
that is, if I don’t get afeared. ( Calling ) Mr. Harry, sir! 
( K?iocks .) It’s time you was awake, sir. (Aside) He don’t 
answer me. He’s tired out, I reckon, an’ no wonder. 
(K?iocks and calls louder) Mr. Harry ! ( Ope?is the door gently 
and exits r. d. (Pause.) Morgan re-enters r. d. Appear- 
ing frightened.) He aint there ! His bed aint been touched ! 
What’s become o’ him ? Perhaps he drunk too much last 
night, an’ wandered off in the street. He may have got 
hurt! (Hurries toward L. d.) 

Enter Henry Seymour, l. d., showing effects of dissipation. 

Morgan, (gently) Good .nornin’, sir. (Seymour slowly 
comes down stage , and does not appear to see Morgan.) I — I 
was beginning to worry about you, sir. (Helps Seymour off 

5 


6 


FORGET-ME-NOTS 


with his coat.) But I s’pose you went home with some o’ 
your friends, sir. ( Places Seymour’s hat and coat on the 
table down l. c. Seymour sits r. of table down l. c. Ap- 
pears lost in thought .) Would you like a cup o’ hot coffee, 
Mr. Harry ? 

- Seymour. ( looking up , noticing Morgan for the first time ) 
Oh ! it’s you, Morgan, is it ? 

Morgan. Yes, sir. 

Seymour. What do you wish ? 

Morgan. Only to know if I could do anything for you, sir. 

Seymour. Nothing. (A pausel) 

Morgan. Mr. Harry, I — I wanted to ask you something. 
(Seymour pays 710 attention .) Last night I — I dreamed that 
you was a boy again ( going behind Seymour’s chair ) an’ I 
saw you a-wadin’ in the brook, just as you used to do, down 
in the fields. An’ somehow or other you got in where the 
water was deep, an’ you begun to go down. An’ then you 
held out your hands to me, sir. 1 wanted to throw myself 
in an’ help you, but somethin’ — I don’t know what — kept me 
back. I called to you to strike out an’ swim, but you only 
shook your head, an’ then you went down, down, down, 
{a slight pause) an’ somehow, sir, I — I’ve been thinkin’ that 
you was really a-gettin’ drowned now. • An’ you’re agoin’ 
down. If you’d only strike out, sir, you’d reach the shore. 
I know you could. ( Pleadmgly ) Oh, Mr. Harry ! think o’ 
your home ! (Seymour starts slightly , and listens .) Think 
o’ your happy boyhood ! Think o’ your mother, sir ! 

Seymour. ( under his bt'eath) My mother 1 

Morgan. How you an’ her used to pick the blue forget- 
me-nots together, sir ! Don’t break your mother’s heart — 

Seymour. ( rising , mterruptmg angrily) How dare you! 
How dare you speak of her in such a place as this! 
Hav’n’t I enough to bear ? (. Repenting ) There, there, 
Morgan ; you meant it kindly, no doubt, but you only make 
me feel the more wretched. 

Morgan. But if you’d only go home, sir. 

Seymour. Home ! I have no home, and I deserve none. 
But if he had not been so severe perhaps I would have 
acted differently. 

Morgan. He’ll forgive you, sir. 

Seymour. Never ! ( crosses to r.) 

Morgan. If you’d go to him an’ — 

Seymour. ( interrupting ) I go to him ! ( Laughs bitterly .) 

And what would I say ? Ask his forgiveness ? It would 
be useless. No, no, you do not know him. And why 
should he forgive me ? 


FORGET-ME-NOTS 


7 


Morgan. He’s your father, sir. 

Seymour. Yes, and because he’s my father he is the 
more severe. ( Picks up wine-glass from the table down R.) 
Look! {Points to glass.) Here is my life as it was. {Breaks 
the handle of glass) This when I left home, broken, but 
not altogether useless. {Letting the glass fall upon the floor) 
That’s what it is now. Would you have me gather together 
the broken pieces and take them to my father ? ’Twould 
be a poor gift. {Sits r. of table down l. c.) 

Morgan. But they can be mended, sir. 

Seymour. No; not now. If, when I was falling, I liad 
been caught — but it is too lgte now. 

Morgan. Your dear mother — 

Seymour. ( interrupting ) Don’t mention her name again, 
Morgan. 

Morgan. Not if you don’t wish it, sir; but if you’d only 
leave this place an’ your friends — 

Seymour, {slowly) I’m going to leave, Morgan. 

Morgan. I’m glad o’ that, sir; for if — a — you’ll pardon 
me, I — I think your friends aint doin’ you no good. 

Seymour, {rising) Friends ! Bah ! I have no friends. 
{Placing his hand on Morgan’s shoulder) Morgan, why is it 
you take such an interest in me ? I am not worth it. 

Morgan. Perhaps it’s because you’ve been so kind to 
me, sir. 

Seymour. I, kind! Why, I’m the most selfish creature 
in the world. {Turns away) 

Morgan. Oh! no, sir! {Aside) He’s actin’ very strange 
to-day. 

Seymour, {as if to himself) Yes, I am going to leave this 
place. 

Morgan. When, sir? 

Seymour. To-day. 

Morgan. Might I ask where we’re agoin’, sir? 

Seymour, {thoughtfully) Where am I going? I do not 
know. Anywhere to get away from this weary life — from 
myself. {Sits r. of table down l. c. Rests his head upon 
his hands) 

Morgan, {aside) Oh! if he’d only go home! {To Sey- 
mour) Do you know it’s just three months to-day since we 
come here, sir ? An’ it were about this time o’ day, too. I 
remember the clock on the railroad station struck nine {a 
pause). I’ll go and be gettin’ the things together. We'll 
be leavin’ this afternoon, I s’pose, sir ? {Aside) Perhaps he 
will go home. 

Exit Morgan, l. d., taking Seymour’s hat and coat. 


8 


FORGET-ME-NOTS' 


Seymour. Three months to-day! It seems years! 
( Looking at clock ) Ten minutes of nine. He said we ar- 
rived here at nine o’clock. What better hour for leaving ? 
{Rising) Down by the river, where I came to the determi- 
nation to end it all {takes a few steps up stage — hesitates ). 
But why not here ? — here, where I have lost my manhood 
and my self-respect ? here, where I have given every- 
thing to pleasure — all the hope and happiness my life con- 
tained — why not surrender here what little there remains ? 
(Rises, unlocks drawer of table , opens it, and takes out revolver. 
Thoughtfully) “ The unknown country from whose bourne 
no traveler returns.” Strange that I have no fear. Is it 
that my life has lost all its value ? But why should I wish 
to remain in a world that cares naught for me — to suffer as I 
have suffered the past three months ? And yet I alone am 
to blame. But if he had forgiven me (takes a box of cart - 
ridges from the table drawer and carefully loads the revolver). 
One ought to be sufficient ; it will be an easy shot. But I 
had best make sure ( puts another cartridge in the revolve r). 
If the first fails me, the second will be more kind. (Lookbig 
at clock ) Five minutes more of life. I wish they were 
past. How my friends will laugh! “Poor fool!” they 
will say; “ what a coward !” And -so I am — a coward and 
a fool. But what I am to-day I owe to these my friends. 
Knowing me for a fool they proffered their friendship and 
then robbed me. They have played with me as with a toy, 
and when they tired they would throw me away. Not one 
would care, whether I left this world or not, now that my 
money is gone. Homeless, friendless, what have I to live 
for ? (Pointing to revolver ) This will prove my best and 
truest friend. I maybe a fool, but for once I shall do a wise 
thing ( Looking at clock) Three minutes and all will 
be over. (Sits in arm-chair, c) I wonder if she will grieve 
very much. I am breaking her heart now. My mother’s 
love is the one thing I am sorry to leave behind. It is the 
one thing that has never changed. I have felt that it was 
following me wherever I have wandered. Why is it that I 
cannot forget her face ? It has been constantly before me 
lately. Sometimes it appears so sorrowful, as if reproaching 
me, and then I see her with the same sweet smile I remem- 
ber so well. How happy we were together at home ! I be- 
lieve she loved me better than the whole world. “ My fairy 
queen,” I called her, and I used to make crowns of wild 
flowers and sceptres of rushes. How well I remember one 
day when I brought her a bunch of forget-me-nots ! — her 
favorite flower. She kissed me, and said that though she 


FORGET-ME-NOTS 


9 


needed no remembrance of her loyal subject she would 
keep them always ; and though she was smiling I saw tears 
in her eyes. (Risings impatiently) Bah ! what a beast I am. 
(Glancing at clock ) One minute more. It is not long. My 
life has been a failure. I chose the wrong road and lost 
my way. If only I had had some one to guide me, some one 
to put me on the right track before it was too late. (Look- 
ing at clock) A half minute ! (Examining revolver) Every- 
thing is ready. A few seconds and the hour will strike. 
Upon the ninth stroke I shall leave this world. I can but 
wait now. (A pause. The clock slowly sb ikes. Seymour 
counts) One (cocks the bigger of revolver) — two — three — 
four — (raises revolver and points it at his head) five — six — 

Morgan, (without) Mr. Harry, sir! Mr. Harry! (Sey- 
mour lowers the revolver .) 

Enter Morgan, l. d., hastily. Seymour places the revolver 
in the table drawer and closes it. 

Morgan. Here are some letters, sir. 

Seymour, (impatiently) Why did you stop me? 

Morgan. Stop you ! Was you goin’ out, sir ? (Giving 
him letters) Two letters — just come, sir. I thought that they 
was likely to be important, sir. (Aside) They are from home. 
I’ll leave him, so’s he can read ’em by hisself. 

Exit Morgan, r.d. 

Seymour, (throwing the letter's on the table without look- 
ing at them) What are letters to me ! Death was cheated, 
but only for a moment (opens the table drawer and takes out 
the revolver). This time I will give Death what belongs to 
him, and quickly, too (is about to raise the revolver when he is 
attracted by one of the letters). From home ! (Lays the re- 
volver upon table and takes up letter) Why should he write ? 
Has he heard of the life I have been leading and writes to 
upbraid me ? (Opens letter and reads. A pause) No ; it is 
too late now (tears the letter into fragments as he comes down 
c.). If he had forgiven me three months ago, when I asked 
his forgiveness, I would not be here to-day, but it’s too late 
now. And mother! Why does she not write? Is it be- 
cause — but there was another letter. Perhaps — (runs to table , 
L. c., takes up another letter , looks at it , and utters a cry of de- 
light. Hastily opens it , and takes out a bunch of withered 
flowers. Controlling himself with difficulty) Forget-me-nots ! 
(Kisses them. A slight pause. Takes the revolver , hesitates , 
and then slowly extracts the cartridges. Then , overcome with 


IO 


FORGET-ME-NOTS 


emotion , he throws himself, sobbing , into the chair r. of table 


L. c.) 


Enter Morgan, r. d. Hesitates , then crosses to l., and 
kneels beside Seymour’s chair. 

Morgan. I knew they’d never forget you at home, sir. 
Won’t you try and remember them, Mr. Harry ? We’ll leave 
this place — 

Seymour, {sobbing) Yes. 

Morgan, {eagerly) And we’ll go — 

, Seymour. Home ! Home ! 


curtain 








A FARCE IN ONE ACT 



A CLOUDY DAY 


CAST OF CHARACTERS 

Mr. Thomas Burton, ) 

Mrs. Thomas Burton, [ a young married couple. 
Time in Playing, 25 Minutes. 


SCENE. — Any Ordinary Living Room. 


STAGE DIRECTIONS 

The actor is supposed to face the audience. R, means 
right ; L, left ; C, centre ; R C, right of centre ; L C, left of 
centre ; R D, right door ; L D, left door. 

R RC C LC L 


3 








A CLOUDY DAY 


SCENE. — Burton is discovered reading newspaper by the 

table f c. Mrs. Burton is looking out of the window , l. 

Mrs. B. Oh ! dear, I believe it is going to rain, and I 
wanted to go shopping, too. (Burton yawns) You seem 
very sleepy this morning, Tom. Is it the- weather ? Cloudy 
weather always makes me stupid and cross ; don’t it you ? 

Burton. ( yawning agabi) No, I can’t say that it does. 

Mrs. B. How dark it is ! It looks as if it were going to 
pour. Perhaps there is going to be a thunder storm ; do 
you think so ? 

Burton. ( lazily turning over the pages of the ?iewspaper) I 
don’t know, I’m sure. 

Mrs. B. And you don’t seem to care, either. 

Burton. Why should I ? 

Mrs. B. But I must go shoping this morning, Tom. 

Burton. There’s been another big fire in Milwaukee. 

Mrs. B. Just think ! Next Friday is your birthday, and I 
haven’t bought your present yet ( approaches him and sits o?i 
the arm of his chair). Now tell me something you really 
want. 

Burton. ( reading from paper) “ A million dollars in 
smoke.” 

Mrs. B. Why, Tom, what nonsense! As if you could 
smoke a million dollars worth of cigarS. Besides, I gave 
you cigars last year. I might give you a pocket-book, but 
I don’t believe you would use it. Or a cigar-case ; but that 
would seem as if I were encouraging you to smoke. Don’t 
you think it would ? 

(Burton makes no reply , but reads the paper attentively .) 

Mrs. B. ( after a pause ) Tom ! 

Burton. ( abstractedly ) Well. 

Mrs. B. Would you like a cigar-case ? 

Burton. ( absent-mindedly ) Cigar! No, I won’t smoke at 
present, I believe. 

Mrs. B. I didn’t say cigar. 

Burton, (half aside) That will be. a heavy loss for Whit- 
ney. 

Mrs. B. I said case. 


5 


6 


A CLOUDY DAY 


Burton. Yes, it’s a very bad case — very. 

Mrs. B. Oh ! Tom ! you are not listening to me. 

Burton. Yes, I am ; but I’m reading, my dear. 

Mrs. B. But tell me, do you wish a pocket-book or a 
cigar-case ? 

Burton. ( turning over page of paper) Hello ! Fire Fly 
and Ginger have been entered in the Grand Circuit. 

Mrs. B. ( beseechingly ) Tom, tell me ; which one ? 

Burton. Neither has won yet. The race is not to be run 
until next week. 

Mrs. B. I don’t mean that. I mean which one will you 
choose ? 

Burton. Oh ! I’m not particular. 

Mrs. B. Haven’t you any preference ? 

Burton. No. If I were a betting man, I think I would 
back Fire Fly. 

Mrs. B. ( rising impatiently ) Oh ! you don’t understand. 
Why don’t you listen ? 

Burton. I was reading, Helen. 

Mrs. B. But I was talking to you. 

Burton. I know you were ; but you saw that I was 
reading. 

Mrs. B. You could have answered my questions. 

Burton. You shouldn’t have asked questions. 

Mrs. B. You shouldn’t read. 

Burton. Now, that’s nonsense, Helen. 

Mrs. B. Of course, you think so. 

Burton, (rising) That’s nonsense, too. There is no “ of 
course ” about it. I think it nonsense when it is nonsense. 
You can’t expect me to think otherwise. 

Mrs. B. Well,— I — I — am sorry if I interrupted your 
reading. But don’t be cross, will you ? 

Burton. I’m not cross. 

Mrs. B. Then tell me what you wish. 

Burton. Wish ? 

Mrs. B. Yes, for a birthday present. (Aside) I don’t 
believe he heard a word I said. 

Burton. Oh ! almost anything — except cigars. 

Mrs. B. I suppose you haven’t smoked all I gave you 
last year. 

Burton, (significantly) No, I haven’t. 

Mrs. B. How would you like a pocket-book? 

Burton. Not unless you give me something to put 
in it. 

Mrs. B. Well, then, a cigar-case. 

Burton. Very well, a cigar-case. I have four, but — 


A CLOUDY DAY 


7 


Mrs. B. {interrupting) Oh! Tom? 

Burton. They are all too small. 

Mrs. B. If I made you a pretty one, with the word 
“ Cigars ” embroidered on it in large letters, would you 
use it? 

Burton. I think l would prefer it without the embroi- 
dery — the silk catches on the coat-buttons so. And it 
would be unnecessary to work the word “ Cigars ” on it 
I have no doubt I would know it’s use. 

Mrs. B. But that would look so pretty. 

Burton. Perhaps, but it’s a useful article rather than an 
ornamental one, you know. If you wish to give me an 
ornament why not purchase something for the house ; then 
we could both enjoy it A vase, for instance ; or a picture. 
That’s just the thing — a pretty picture. How much money 
do you want ? {Puts his hand in his pocked) 

Mrs. B. But, Tom, we have no place to hang any more 
pictures. 

Burton. Oh ! we can find a place. One of the old ones 
can come down and be stored away. 

Mrs. B. Oh! they are so pretty. 

Burton. There are one or two exceptions. There’s 
the portrait of your paternal grandparent, for instance {points 
to portrait on the wail , c.) Now, since we hav’n’t a gallery 
of ancestral paintings — 

Mrs. B. ( interrupting ) Oh! we can’t take that down. 
Mamma is so proud of it. 

Burton. But she can be just as proud of it in the closet. 
Prouder, I should say. 

Mrs. B. The closet ! 

Burton. Well, then, the loft, if she values it so highly. 
I’ve no doubt your grandfather was a very fine man in his 
day, and probably that is a good likeness ; but I never had 
the pleasure of his acquaintance, and, I must confess, I take 
no interest in the portrait of a stranger. 

Mrs. B. But grandfather isn’t a stranger. 

Burton. No, his portrait isn’t. I’ve been acquainted 
with that almost two years now, but I can’t say our opinion 
of each other has improved any. We are mere acquaint- 
ances — nothing more. When I married into your family, 
Helen, I didn’t bargain to claim relationship with all your 
departed relatives. 

Mrs. B. O Tom ! how heartless ! 

Burton. It isn’t heartlessness. My heart isn’t large 
enough, that’s all. I’ve nothing against your grandfather 
{aside) except that he died poor. {To Mrs. B.) But he 


8 


\ CLOUDY DAY 


doesn't appear to be fond of me — -judging from the way he 
scowls and frowns. 

Mrs. B. You know that was only his near-sighted- 
ness. 

Burton. Then he should have worn goggles. It doesn’t 
make any difference in what part of the room I am, his eyes 
follow me, prying and meddling into everything. If it were 
your grandmother’s portrait I could understand. 

Mrs. B. How can you speak so disrespectfully of my 
ancestors 1 

Burton. I’m not disrespectful, but I am heartily tired of 
your grandfather’s stony stare. Now just look at him, 
always watching and listening to what goes on. I won’t 
stand it any longer. ( Goes up stage .) 

Mrs. B. What are you going to do ? 

Burton. I’m going to turn his face to the wall ( turns the 
portrait around ). And when I come home this afternoon 
your grandfather must come down. 

Mrs. B. ( indignantly ) I won’t have grandfather treated 
so. 

Barton. I will. In my opinion he never looked better. 

Mrs. B. ( decidedly ) Tom Burton ! turn grandfather back 
to his proper position immediately. 

Burton, {looking at her for a moment— the?i calmly) No, I 
won’t, my dear. I think he is in his proper position. 

Mrs. B. If you don’t, I— I — I’ll tell mamma. 

Burton. ( sneeringly ) Oh ! you threaten, do you ? (An- 
grily) Well, go tell mamma ; I don’t care. 

Mrs. B. (with determination) I will. 

Exit Mrs. Burton, l. 

Burton, (laughing weakly) Ha, ha ! I suppose she con- 
siders that clever. I never saw her so obstinate before ; 
she is acting disgracefully. (Sits by table) Now what is 
there to admire in that old portrait ? I can’t imagine. In 
my opinion it has a very vacant look. I have half a mind 
to turn it round again, just to spite Helen and — a — a her 
mother (rises, goes up stage to portrait and turns it part way 
round , then quickly turns it with its face to the wall again). 
No ! those eyes ! I can’t endure them. I wish the old man 
had been born blind. ( Sitting again at table) I am sorry I 
made Helen so angry — I — I mean that she made me so 
angry. No, I don’t mean that, either, for I wasn’t angry. 
(Looking at watch) Hello ! I’m fifteen minutes late. (Rises, 
then sits again) I wish I knew how to make peace. If I — 
a — if she hadn’t been so cross, I would — (stops and listens ). 


A CLOUDY DAY 


9 


She is coming! Perhaps it’s her mother! I don’t care. 
( Takes up newspaper and begins to whistle. Stops whistling 
and listens.) It was only a noise in the street. I sincerely 
wish this quarrel had not occurred. It makes one feel so 
uncomfortable. It is the first one since our marriage. 
But I suppose — like the measles — we have to have them 
sooner or later. Perhaps it was my fault, but I don’t know 
how, exactly. Besides, it takes two to make a quarrel, so 1 
was not entirely to blame. I suppose I could tell her that 
I am sorry, but I’m sure I don’t know what I have done to 
be sorry for. She is certainly more angry than I ever saw 
her before. 

It is rather difficult to know just what is the best thing to 
do. But why not act just as if nothing had happened ? Yes, 
that will be the best way. 

She is sure to regain her temper in time. When she re- 
turns, I will be just as agreeable as possible. I’ll say all the 
nice things I can think of. But perhaps she will not return. 
Well, why not find her ? Yes, I’ll do it. (Rises.) Peace must 
be restored even at the sacrifice of a little pride. 

Exit Burton, l. 

Mrs. B. (cautiously sticks her head in right , looks around 
room , then enters) He has gone, and he didn’t say good-bye 
to me. He didn’t turn grandfather’s portrait back again, 
either. Mamma wasn’t at all excited. She only said, 
“ Never mind, Tom is turning his face to the wall this morn- 
ing ; after awhile he will turn himself back again ; then he 
will turn the portrait, too.” (Sits, r. c.) 

I had made up my mind never to speak to Tom again, 
but mamma advised me not to take that determination. 
Perhaps it would be too great a victory for his sex. Mamma 
thinks a woman’s weapons are her tongue and her tears, 
and that a man excels at sarcasm. She said Tom hadn’t 
been sarcastic, so everything would come out all right ; but 
if he should use sarcasm, then I might have good cause for 
anger. 

I wish he had said good-bye to me. (Listening) I heard 
a footstep. Perhaps Tom is returning. I must be occupied 
with something. ( Takes up book and reads attentively .) 

Enter Burton, r. 

Burton, (with forced gayety) Ah, there you are, Helen — I 
—I’ve been looking for you. 

Mrs. B. (pleasantly Have you ? 


IO 


A CLOUDY DAY 


Burton. ( embarrassed ) Yes. {Sits l. c. — a pause) Why 
what a pretty gown ! 

Mrs. B. ( pleased) Do you like it ? 

Burton. Exceedingly. What are those things on it ? 
Spiders ? 

Mrs. B. {springing to her feet ) Spiders! 

Burton. Oh ! they are flowers, aren’t they ? I wasn’t 
quite sure whether they were spiders or frogs. 

Mrs. B. (aside) The brute ! He is becoming sarcastic. 
(Goes to window , L.) 

Burton, (aside) That was certainly a very bad begin- 
ning. (After pause) Helen! (No reply ) That’s a very pretty 
hat you wear. I always liked the style of that — a — a — what 
do you call the thing sticking up in front that looks like a — 
like a shaving brush ? 

Mrs. B. (with dignity) Sir ! 

Burton. I — I didn’t say it was one, my dear. I — I only 
said it looked like one. 

Mrs. B. How dare you, sir! How dare you insult me 
to my face ! 

Burton. I — I didn’t. I said — 

Mrs. B. (interrupting) You spoke in sarcasm. You in- 
tended to hurt my feelings, you know you did. I — I’ll never 
speak to you again — never. (Sits r. of table and takes up 
book.) 

Burton. Now, H den, there’s no use talking in that way. 
How was I to know ? I’m not a hat-dresser, or whatever 
you call them. I am not supposed to know the different 
figures on all your dresses or what your hats and bonnets 
are trimmed with. And even if the designs were frogs or 
spiders, or if you did wear a shaving-brush on your head- 
gear, there’s no reason why the article should not be be- 
coming. (A pause) Won’t you ever speak to me again ? 
(Mrs. B. shakes her head determinedly) You won’t? Well, 
what am I to do ? It will seem very strange not to have my 
wife ask me questions. Think how lonely my life will be. 
I had planned such a happy married career too. And just 
think of all the good times we could have had. Are you 
thinking of them, my dear ? (Mrs. B. nods) We used to be 
very happy together, didn’t we ? (Mrs. B. nods and wipes 
her eyes) 

Burton (sighing) But that is all over now. (Mrs. B. 
sighs) Isn’t there anything I can do to make you speak ? 
(Mrs. B. shakes her head) Nothing ? I’ll even turn your 
grandfather’s portrait face outward. (Goes up stage and does 
it) See, Helen, I’ve done it. There is the same stony stare. 


A CLOUDY DAY 


II 


But I will try to endure it for your sake. Won’t you speak 
now ? (Mrs. B. shakes her head) Perhaps you will write — 
that wouldn’t be speaking. (Mrs. B. shakes her head) Then 
it’s no use trying ; I’ve done everything in my power. 
{Rises arid goes to window , L.) 

Mrs. B. {aside) How I wish I could speak to him. 

Burton {aside) I must make her speak, or I’ll be in a 
temper all day. 

Mrs. B. {aside) If only I had not said that I would never 
speak to him again ! {Sighing) I suppose I can’t do it now. 

Burton, {looking out of the window) There goes Mrs. 
Carter. That new seal-skin coat of hers is certainly 
very becoming. (Mrs. B. springs to her feet and is about 
to run to the window whe?i she recollects herself and sits 
again) 

Burton, {after slight pause) And here comes your friend, 
Mrs. Cushing. (Mrs. B. utters an exclamation of disgust) 
Did you speak, my dear ? {Lookbig out of the window 
again) How very handsome Mrs. Cushing looks this 
morning. I never saw her look better, though she is al- 
ways stylishly dressed. {Bowing as if speaking to Mrs. 
Cushing) Good morning, Mrs. Cushing ! Why, she is 
crossing the street. Perhaps she is coming to call. Yes, I 
do believe — 

Mrs. B. {springing to her feet and interrupting) She 
mustn’t come in ! I won’t see her ! 

Burton, {looking out of the window) No — I was mistaken. 
She was going to join Mrs. Carter. 

Mrs. B. {speaking excitedly) She is a nasty, disagreeable, 
spiteful thing, and you know I can’t bear her. Just because 
you admire her — (Burton attempts to speak) yes you do. 
You think she is handsome and stylish, but she’s nothing 
of the kind. She’s a flirt, and a — a {hesitates) 

Burton, {smiling) Helen ! 

Mrs. B. Oh ! Tom ! you made me speak. 

Burton. Of course I did. 

Mrs. B. But I should not have done it. 

Burton. Oh! yes, you should. You didn’t wish me to 
have a mute for a wife, did you ? 

Mrs. B. No, but — but it was all your fault. 

Burton. I acknowledge it. 

Mrs. B. No, it wasn’t your fault at all ; it was mine. 

Burton. Oh ! you are entirely too generous. Suppose we 
agree that the fault belongs to neither of us. 

Mrs. B. But something is to blame. 

Burton. It must have been the cloudy day. 


12 


A CLOUDY DAY 


Mrs. B. Yes, I am sure it was. Cloudy weather always 
makes me cross. 

Burton. And it always makes me disagreeable. 

Mrs. B. But look, Tom — the clouds have passed away 
and the sun is shining. 

Burton. Yes, we will have a pleasant day, after all. 


CURTAIN 



Wanted— A Valet 


An Original Ethiopian Sketch 



WANTED-A VALET 


CAST OF CHARACTERS 


Mr. McGinty, . 

Dick Skinner, 

George Washington Congo, 
Lewis Lewis, .... 


. . A Lawyer. 

His discharged Valet. 

| Applicants. 


Time in Playing, 25 Minutes 






WANTED— A VALET 


SCENE — McGinty’s office. McGinty discovered seated 

at a table c., writing. 

Enter Dick Skinner, r. d. 

(Coughs to attract McGinty’s attention .) 

McGinty. (perceiving Dick) Well, Dick, are you ready 
to leave ? 

Dick. N — No, sah. 

McGinty. I told you that I was going to dismiss you 
this morning. 

Dick. I’se happy you’ll miss me, sah. 

McGinty. I said discharge — 

Dick. No, sah, you said — 

McGinty. (interrupting) Now, no impudence. I know 
what I said. I warned you that the very next time you be- 
came intoxicated you would have to go. 

Dick. But, sah, I never took a — 

McGinty. (interrupting) Yes, you did — a great many 
drops. 

Dick. But, sah — 

McGinty. (mterrupting) Now don’t deny it. Go pack 
up your clothes and leave immediately. (Dick goes r.) 
I am writing a recommendation which you may take with 
you. 

Dick, (perplexed) W — What’ll I do wid it, sah ? 

McGinty. Present it to the next gentleman for whom 
you wish to work. 

Dick. Aint it wuth keepin’ ? 

McGinty. ( impatiently ) Oh ! you’re the dumbest man I 
ever saw. 

Dick. Yas, sah. 

Exit Dick, r. d. 

McGinty. (finishes writing the recommendation^) There ! 
I’ll leave this recommendation on the table where Dick 

5 


6 


WANTED — A VALET 


will find it. {Rising) I dislike to dismiss the man, for he is 
a good servant — but he has been intoxicated once too 
often. I hope my advertisement in this morning’s paper 
will bring some replies. I appointed nine o’clock as the 
hour for receiving applicants. {Looking at his watch .) 
Why, it’s almost nine now. {Going r.) I’ll tell Dick to 
show every one who calls to this room. 

Enter Lewis Lewis, c. d. 

Lewis. Mornin’, sah. 

McGinty. Good morning. 

Lewis. Am you de liar ? 

McGinty. The what? 

Lewis. De liar. 

McGinty. {with dignity) I am a lawyer. 

Lewis. Dat’s what I said. Am you in ? 

McGinty. What do you wish ? 

Lewis. You said you wanted to see me dis mornin’, sah. 
McGinty. Have you come in response to my advertise- 
ment ? 

Lewis. I — I reckon so. 

McGinty. Very well : take a seat. 

Lewis. Yas, sah. {Sits.) 

McGinty {sitting) What is your name ? Your Christian 
name ? 

Lewis. I’se a Methodist. 

McGinty. No, no. I mean what is your first name ? 
Lewis. Lewis, sah. 

McGinty. And what is your surname ? 

Lewis, {perplexed) Sah? 

McGinty. Your surname. 

Lewis. Y — yas, sah. 

McGinty. I asked you a question. 

Lewis. Yas, sah. 

McGinty. {impatiently) Oh ! you don’t understand ? 
Lewis. No, sah. 

McGinty. What is your last name ? 

Lewis. Lewis, sah. 

McGinty. ( irately ) Oh ! no, not your first name — your 
last name. 

Lewis. Yas, sah. Lewis, sah. 

McGinty. But you say your first name is Lewis. 

Lewis. So it am. 

McGinty. But your last name— 

Lewis. • ( interrupting ) Lewis, sah. 

McGinty. Lewis Lewis ? 


WANTED — A VALET 


7 


Lewis. Just so, judge. 

McGinty. ( angrily ) Why didn’t you say so at first ? 

Lewis. I did, sah. 

McGinty. Have you ever had experience as a valet ? 

Lewis. A — a which, sah ? 
x McGinty. I didn’t say a witch — I said a valet. 

Lewis. Yas, sah — an’ a mountain, too. ( Laughs up- 
roariously .) 

McGinty. Where were you last employed ? 

Lewis. In a lard mill, sah. 

McGinty. A lard mill ? Then why do you come to me ? 

Lewis. Don’t you try cases, sah ? 

McGinty. Not cases of lard, you numskull. I have been 
accustomed to pay my servants either six dollars a week 
and board, or ten dollars without board. Which would 
you prefer ? 

Lewis. ( thoughtfully ) Six dollars an’ you eat me, or ten 
dollars an’ I eat myself. 1 think I’d rather eat myself, sah. 

Enter Dick, r. d., carrying a large valise. 

McGinty. Here ! Where are you taking my new valise ? 

Dick. ( embarrassed ) N — Nowhar, sah. I — I was bor- 
rowin’ it. 

McGinty. What for ? 

Dick. For to-day. 

McGinty. Well, I don’t choose to lend it. Put it where 
you found it, immediately. 

Dick. Yas, sah. 

Exit Dick, r. d. 

McGinty. {aside) Perhaps he has borrowed more of my 
property. I had better make an examination before he 
leaves. {To Lewis.) Just wait a few moments, Lewis. I 
shall return presently. 

Exit McGinty, r. d. 

Lewis. ’Pears like dat man can’t understood nuffin I 
says. Might think I was a baby. ( Takes up from the table 
c., the recommendation which McGinty has written for 
Dick.) Hello ! What’s dis ? {Reading with difficulty .) 
“ Dis — is — to — recommend — de — bear — as — honest — sober 
—an’ dili-gent.” I wonder what kind o’ gent dat am. Dis 
am a notice to quit, dat’s what. {Lays the paper upon the 
table , c.) 

Enter George Washington Congo, c. d. 

{He is dressed in a very extravagant fashion , swallow-tail 


8 


WANTED — A VALET 


coat, showy vest a?id trousers, high color , and brilliant red 
cravat. Wears a high hat and carries a large cane) 

Lewis. Oh ! look at de jude ! 

Congo. Who you callin’ a jude ? 

Lewis. Oh ! you can’t fool me. I knows who you is, 
George Washington Congo. 

Congo. You think you’se’f mighty smart. What you 
here fo’ — eh ? 

Lewis. I’se gwine to work here. 

Congo. No — you isn’t. 

Lewis. I is, too. 

Congo. You aint got no recommendation, you aint. 

Lewis. W — what’s dat ? 

Congo. Dat’s what I gib a man when I wants to work 
fo’ him. 

Lewis. Reckon I can get some. What sort o’ ter- 
backer am it ? 

Congo. Terbacker nuffin. It’s writ. ( Taking a paper 
from his pocket and giving it to Lewis.) Read dat, and 
maybe you’ll suspect your s’periors. ( Struts up c.) 

Lewis, {after glancing over the paper ) Reckon dat’s 
’bout what I’se after. {Puts the paper in his pocket) 

Congo, {coming dow?i c) What do you think o’ dat ? 

Lewis. Taint wuth nuffin. 

Congo. It am, too. Whar am it at? 

Lewis. Better had look. 

Congo, {searches over the table, finds the recommendation 
McGinty wrote for Dick and puts it in his pocket ). Dat 
recomdation’s wallible. 

Lewis, {chuckling — aside') Dat aint his recomdation. 

Enter McGinty, r. d. 

Congo. Good mornin’, sah. Nice day, sah. 

McGinty. Are you another applicant ? 

Congo. N — No, sah. I’se a tonsorial artist. 

McGinty. A barber, eh ? But have you come to apply 
for a situation ? 

Congo. Yas, sah. 

McGinty. What are you named ? 

Congo, {glaring at Lewis) A jude. 

McGinty. I mean how do you call yourself? 

Congo. A gen’leman, sah. 

McGinty ( impatiently ) No, no — 

Congo. Yas, sah, I is. I’s a F. F. V. — dat’s what I is. 

McGinty. You’re an idiot. What is your name ? 

Congo, {proudly ) George Washington Congo. 


WANTED — A VALET 


9 


Lewis. ( derisively ) George Washington ! 

Congo. ( offended ) What’s de matter wid George Wash- 
ington ? 

Lewis. He didn’ know nuffin. 

Congo. He did, too. 

Lewis. He couldn’t even tell a lie, he couldn’. 

McGinty. That is greatly to his credit. Truth is indeed 
a jewel. The Father of this Country could have lied if he 
had desired, but he would not. 

Lewis. Course he wouldn’ when his dad catched him 
wid de hatchet in his hand. 

McGinty. (to Congo) Have you a recommendation of 
good character ? 

Congo. Yas, sah. (Gives McGinty the paper which he 
foujid on the table) (To Lewis) Now you’ll see how 
wallible a recomdation am. 

McGinty (reading the recommendation) Eh! What’s this, 
you rascal ? 

Congo, (surprised) Sah! 

McGinty. (angrily) You are a fraud! A thief! 

Congo. I — It must be a mistook, sah. 

McGinty. Do you mean to tell me that this recommen- 
dation belongs to you ? 

Congo. Yas, sah. 

McGinty. That’s a falsehood, for I wrote that paper 
myself. ( Throws the paper upon the table) Now you may 
go. I do not wish a dishonest servant in my employ. 

Lewis. I’se got a recomdation, sah. 

Congo. Eh ! 

Lewis. A good one, sah. 

McGinty. Very well. Come with me to my private 
office. 

Lewis. I’se honest, I is. 

Exeunt McGinty and Lewis, l. d. 

Congo. Well, if dat don’ beat all I ever seed. Just 
wait ’til I catch dat rascal Lewis ; I’ll beat all he ever seed. 
( Takes up the recomme?idation which McGinty threw upon 
the table) Dis here aint my recomdation. 

Enter Dick , r. d. 

Dick. Reckon it’s mine. 

Congo. Yours ? 

Dick. Yas, but ’t’aint no ’count. What you want here? 
A job ? 

Congo. Yas. 


IO 


WANTED — A VALET 


Dick. Do you drink ? 

Congo. Course I do. I’se a gen’leman. 

Dick. Wouldn’t be no use cornin’ here fo’ a job if you 
didn’ drink like a fish. 

Congo. Dat so ? Why ? 

Dick. ’Cause de boss he wo’n’ have no man what don v 
drink. Dat’s why he turned me down. 

Congo. Is you temperance ? 

Dick. I never take miffin’ — (aside) ’Cept when I’se 
dry. (To Congo) If you want de boss to take you on, just 
you get ’toxicated. ( Takmg a bottle from his pocketl) Here, 
you try some o’ dis. Best in- de world. 

Congo. How do you know ? 

Dick. Eh? ’Cause I — ’Cause I — I’s been telled so. 
(Aside) I’ll fix his chance fo’ gettin’ my place. 

Congo, (drinks and becomes jovial) Ah! Dat sartainly 
am fine! (Drinks agani) Hurrah ! I’se a daisy. Hurrah! 

Dick. Yas, dat sartainly am de stuff. 

Congo. I’se one o’ the four hundred, I is. 

Dick. How do you know ? 

Congo. How do I know ? ’Cause thar would be only 
three hundred an’ ninety-nine widout me. I’se gwine for 
to get a job here, too, what’s more. 

Dick. Course you is. Go right in an’ see de boss — 
go right in. (Exit Congo, l. d.) 

(Noise heard out l.) 

Enter Lewis, l. d., hurriedly, his clothing in great dis - 
order. 

Lewis. Help! Murder! He’s killin’ me. Help. 

Dick. What’s de matter ? 

Lewis. I’se dead. 

Dick. Is you ? Take some o’ dis med’cine. 

Lewis, (drinks) What sort o’ med’cine am dat ? 

Dick. Dat’s what dey call de “ Cold Cure.” 

Lewis, (drinks again and becomes surly) I’ll learn George 
Washington Congo I aint no cowyard. I’se gwine to get 
a job right here, too, what’s more. 

Dick. Course you is. Go in an’ make de boss take 
you — go right in. 

Exit Lewis, l. d. 

Dick, (chuckling) Reckon dere chance fo’ stayin’ here 
aint wuth a pinch o’ snuff. (Great racket lieai'd out l.) 

Enter McGinty, l. d., screaming ; followed by Congo 
and Lewis, each brandishing an immense razor. 


WANTED — A VALET 


II 


McGinty. ( making a dive under the table). Police ! Police ! 

Dick. Here! Here! Gen’lemen don’ make no such 
noise. Dis aint no stock exchange. Take anudder drop — 
{Extends the bottle toward them. Congo springs forward 
and snatches the bottle from Dick’s hand.) 

Lewis. Gib me dat med’cine or I’ll split you right down 
de back : hear me talkin’ ? ( Chases Congo around the room. 
Both trip over chairs.) 

Exit Congo, c. d ..followed by Lewis. 

(Dick runs to c. d. Shuts and locks the doors.) 

McGinty {timidly stickmg out his head from under the 
table) Have they gone ? 

Dick. Yas, boss, dey am went. 

McGinty. {coming from under the table a?id grasping 
Dick by the hand) {With emotion) Richard, my boy — you 
have saved my life. 

Dick. I — I couldn’ help it, sail. 

McGinty. Forgive my harsh treatment and inapprecia- 
tion of your valuable services. 

Dick. Course I will, sah. 

McGinty. And if I raise your salary, will you consent 
to remain ? 

Dick. Fo’ever, boss ; fo’ever. 

CURTAIN 
































































• * 






















































































































































































A Slight Miscalculation 


A Monologue 































A SLIGHT MISCALCULATION 


SCENE. — A parlor. Enter Percy Remington. He is 

dressed in the latest fashion and wears a glass in one eye. 

Talks in a blase , affected manner throughout. 

Remington. ( looking about the room) I’m awfully glad 
there’s no one here. »It would appear so beastly ignorant 
and unpolished to bring my hat and coat into the parlor. 
But it isn’t my fault, I’m sure. (. Places his hat upon a chair.) 
Such a horribly rude maid ! And so verdant ! She screamed 
at me as if I were a — a — a lackey. The idea ! I wish they 
would postpone sweeping the house when I call. It’s such 
a deuced dusty welcome, don’t you know. The maid didn’t 
seem to know how soon Miss Carter would return and I 
really can’t say that she appeared to care, either. I — I sup- 
pose I had better await her. Now that I have fully deter- 
mined to propose, the sooner it’s over the better. {Starts 
to take off his overcoat : then hesitates with his coat partly off) 
But — but what’s the rush ? To-morrow will do quite as well, 
I’m sure. {Puts on his overcoat again) I — I don’t wish to 
do anything that I might regret, don’t you know. {Takes 
up his hat) {Hesitating) But why should I defer the inevit- 
able ? I really can’t see the advantage of a postponement. 
When a fellow decides to marry, he might as well conclude 
the preliminaries as soon as possible. {Taking off his over- 
coat arid placing it with his hat upon a chair) Proposing is 
such a dreadful bore at any rate, don’t you know. Yes, I’ll 
do it to-day. I wonder why women consider me so inter- 
esting. They do — for their manner proves it. What is it 
about me that attracts ? Is it because I take so little inter- 
est in them ? Why should I ? I never interest myself in any- 
thing — it’s so frightfully fatiguing. Perhaps women admire 
me because I — I am so very different from the other fellows. 
Perhaps — {Stops before the mirror and gazes at his reflection , 
admiringly) Yes — that’s it. It’s my eye-glass and the way 
I brush my hair. That is certainly a charming mirror; 
awfully charming. Strange I never noticed it before. How 
well a portrait of one of the family would look in that frame. 
But which one of the family ? Not her father — he is too fear- 
fully stumpy. I — I suppose the artist might enlarge him to 

5 


6 


A SLIGHT MISCALCULATION 


the required size, but what about his whiskers ? They would 
have to be enlarged also, and there is entirely too much of 
them as it is. Her mother’s portrait might — ( breaking off 
shortly) By Jove! I had forgotten the mother. ( Goes to 
chair and takes up his overcoat. ) If I marry the daughter, I 
will acquire a mother-in-law. {Putting on his overcoat.) A 
mother-in-law with a great deal of avoirdupois, too. She’s 
an awfully weighty objection. But why should I object ? 
Ev?ry one acknowledges her to be a terribly fascinating 
woman. {Taking off his overcoat and again placing it upon 
a chair) All the fellows will envy me my fortune in winning 
such a mother-in-law. I wish Miss Carter would return. 
{Gazing into the mirror) A portrait to do that frame justice, 
should be of some one with a distinguished bearing and fine 
physique ; some one — I wonder why I never sat for a por- 
trait. I’ll do it after we are married — Yes, and I’ll exhibit 
it in the Academy. Then all the fellows will point 
me out to strangers as “ the lucky dog who won the reign- 
ing belle of the season.” I’m awfully glad now, that I 
have decided to marry Miss Carter : it will be such a jolly 
good joke on Freddie Stanton. He has been entirely too 
attentive all winter. I— I can’t understand how women 
can endure him. He is so horribly frivolous and continu- 
ally criticising people’s appearance. I hate a critic. 
{Carelessly takes up a card from the card-plate upon the table. 
Reading) “ Mrs. Nicholas Hofstetter.” She is that corpulent 
old Dutch woman. {Reading another card) “ Countess 
Prudenheim.” Countess, indeed! From the way she is 
continually talking about her title, you might think she was 
some one, instead of the wife of a bankrupt gambler. {Read- 
ing another card) “Mr. Frederick Stanton.” Just look at 
that card. Why it’s perfectly huge ! {Reading another card ) 
“ Mr. Frederick Stanton.” He doesn’t know the first princi- 
ples of correct form or etiquette. ( Taking up another card) 
And here’s another. Well, this is certainly too much ! His 
attentions are becoming perfectly obnoxious. ( Taking up a 
book from the table ; turns to title-page and reads) “ Miss 
Carter, from her sincere friend, Fred — ” {breaking off.) 
How insolent — terribly insolent! The idea of his present- 
ing her with a book — poems, too. He hasn’t intellect 
enough to write poetry himself. ( Turns over the pages of 
the book. Finding a photograph) What! Freddie’s photo- 
graph. He is impudence and conceit personified. The 
very next time we meet, I — I’ll give him a portion of my 
mind — a large portion, too. Why, I’m in a horrible rage — 
a perfect frenzy, don’t you know. {Seeing a letter lying 


A SLIGHT MISCALCULATION 


7 


upon the tabled) No doubt that letter is from him, too. 
( Takes up the letter and starts) Eh ! What’s this ? W — w 
— why that’s my name — and in Miss Carter’s handwriting. 
It’s stamped and sealed all ready to be sent : I wonder why 
it hasn’t been mailed. Probably it’s an invitation tc dinner 
or to take a drive. I — I’ll read it. ( Opens the letter and 
reads) “ My dear Mr. Remington ; I am writing to my 
most intimate friends to announce my engage — ” {breaks 
off shortly : then hurriedly finishes the letter and utters an 
exclamation) Freddie — Stanton ! {Slowly and with an 
extremely dejected air , tears the letter into fragments. Then 
takes his hat and coat from the chair and exits, draggmg his 
coat after him by the sleeve) 




PRO TEM 


A Comedy in Three Acts 







































PRO TEM 


CAST OF CHARACTERS 


Raymond Shepherd, . 
Oscar Wolcott, . 
Henry Leslie, 

Dr. Adolphus Blank, 
Logan, .... 

Mrs. Shepherd, . j 

Bessie Martin, 
Rachel Shepherd, 
Lena Bailey, . 


. . . A Retired Merchant . 

His Nephew. 

. . . A Secretary , Pro Tem. 

. . Mrs. Shepherd's Physician. 

A Man Sew ant. 
Wife of Ray?nond , and Trustee and 
Guardian of Bessie. 

. . . Mrs. Shepherd's Niece 
. Raymond's Sister ; a Spinster. 
. . . A Friend of Bessie . 


SCENE 

Acts I and III. The library at Raymond Shepherd’s. 
Act II. The drawing-room at Raymond Shepherd’s. 

One week is supposed to intervene between Acts I and II 
and twenty-four hours between Acts II and III. 


Time in Playing, Two Hours 

Costumes Modern. 

PROPERTIES 

Act I. Writing materials and call bell upon the table ; 
prescription book and pencil for Blank ; letters and cigar 
for Shepherd ; a large bundle for Leslie. 

Act II. Writing mat on the table ; two bottles for Mrs. 
Shepherd ; paper for Logan. 

Act III. Note for Logan; ball of worsted and writing 
materials on the table for Shepherd. 


STAGE SETTING 
Acts I and III 


Winoow Door 



Act II 


. W/fvacr/ Doors fhNOow 



STAGE DIRECTIONS 

The player is supposed to face the audience. R. means 
right ; L. left ; C. centre ; R. C. right centre ; L. C. left 
centre ; D. F. door in flat running across the back of stage ; 
R. F. right side of flat; L. F. left side of flat; R. D. right 
door ; L. D. left door. 

R. R. C. C. L. C. L. 


PRO TEM 


SCENE. — The library at Raymond Shepherd’s. Writing 

materials and call bell on the table , down r. c. 

Enter Rachel Shepherd, l. d. 

Rachel. (Crosses to table down r. c. and rings the bell. 
After pause , rings again more vigorously .) (Calling') 
Logan ! (Aside) He hasn’t become accustomed to answer- 
ing a bell yet. (Calling again) Logan ! 

Enter Logan, d. f. 

Logan. Yes, ma’am. 

Rachel. Didn’t you hear me ring ? 

Logan. I heard somethin’, ma’am, but — 

Rachel. (-, interrupting ) Well, when you hear “ some- 
thing ” in future, answer it immediately. 

Logan, (meekly) Yes, ma’am. 

Rachel. Has Mr. Leslie come this morning ? 

Logan. Not yet, ma’am. 

Rachel. When he does, show him here. 

Logan. I will, ma’am. 

Exit Logan, d. f. 

Rachel, (examining articles upon the table) Let me 
see, everything seems to be here : paper, ink, oh ! the 
books. Iliad forgotten them. (Calling) Logan! (Rings 
the bell) 

E?iter Logan, d. f. 

(To Logan) Did a package come by express this 
morning? 

Logan. Not that I took notice on, ma’am. 

Rachel. Are you sure ? A large package. 

Logan. Nothin’ came, ma’am. 

Rachel, (half aside) That’s very strange. Perhaps it 
will come later in the day — but I wished to begin this 
morning. 


Exit Logan, d. f. 


7 


8 


PRO TEM 


I must keep my secretary employed somehow. (Sits by 
table , down r. c.) (Thoughtfully) What a very pleasant 
young man he is. And so handsome ! I am sure he will 
prove satisfactory. I was quite frightened when I received 
his letter in reply to my advertisement in the newspaper, 
and when I wrote, telling him to call, it seemed very bold 
in me — but in this age women have to be bold, if they wish 
to accomplish anything. If those books don’t arrive, what 
shall I give him to do ? I cannot afford to pay twelve 
dollars a week and have him waste an entire day. 

Enter Dr. Blank, d. f. 

Blank. Good morning, Miss Shepherd. (Rachel rises , 
startled.) How are you this fine morning ? 

Rachel. Oh ! it’s you, is it, Doctor ? I — I thought — • 

Blank, (interrupting) It was some one else, eh ? 

Rachel, (hesitating) Well — a — 

Blank. Now don’t deny it, Miss Shepherd, you were 
expecting some one. 

Rachel. Yes, to tell the 'truth, I was expecting some 
one. 

Blank. I knew it. 

Rachel, (proudly) My secretary. 

Blank, (surprised) Your what? 

Rachel. My secretary. I thought you would be sur- 
prised. I — I would like to consult you about — about some- 
thing, Doctor ; won’t you be seated for a few moments ? 

Blank. Certainly. (Aside) What new departure is this ? 
( They sit) 

Rachel. You see, Doctor, I — I have always thought a 
woman should be able to take care of herself — 

Blank. She can, as a rule, Miss Shepherd. 

Rachel. Yes, of course ; but I mean a woman ought to 
have some means of support — in case of necessity. 

Blank. So she should — dressmaking, cooking, painting ; 
there are any number of ways. 

Rachel. Yes, but the question was, which to choose. I 
do not care for the ordinary pursuits of life, and — 

Blank, (interrupting). Ah, I see ! You expect to turn your 
attention to something where your great talents will have 
an opportunity to be appreciated. 

Rachel, (flattered) O Doctor! you flatter me! 

Blank, (sarcastically) Not at all, I assure you. 

. Rachel. And you really consider me talented? 

Blank. Undoubtedly. 


PRO TEM 


9 


Rachel. Then it would be wicked in me not to improve 
my talents, wouldn’t it ? 

Blank. Very. (Aside) They need improving. 

Rachel. That’s what I think, and so I have decided to 
study medicine. 

Blank, (surprised) Eh! Medicine? 

Rachel. Yes ; I came to the decision about a week ago. 

Blank, (aside) She is going crazy. 

Rachel. Don’t you think it a splendid idea ? 

Blank, (sarcastically) Splendid ! 

Rachel. I knew you would approve. 

Blank. You will be an honor to the profession. 

Rachel. I intend to. I place such confidence in you, 
Doctor, that I wished to obtain your advice and encourage- 
ment. 

Blank. And what school do you propose to follow ? 

Rachel, (hesitating) Oh — a — no school in particular. 

Blank. One of your own, I suppose. 

Rachel. I have decided to write treatises upon different 
medical subjects, and in searching through three or four 
books which I have purchased to find what to say, I 
thought I would obtain an excellent medical education ; 
don’t you think so ? 

Blank, (sarcastically) A very thorough course indeed, far 
more than the majority of students have. But may I ask what 
subject you have chosen for your first, or is that a secret ? 

Rachel. Oh ! no. The truth is, I — I haven’t quite de- 
cided. I wished your advice. 

Blank, (aside) My advice would be very discouraging. 

Rachel. My sister-in-law’s case has always proved a 
very interesting one to me — 

Blank, (rising and interrupting — decidedly) You ask my 
advice ? Well, then, don’t meddle (altering his ma?iner) I — 
I should say, don’t waste your valuable time upon a case 
that has baffled an expert ; at least, not until you have had 
a little experience. Now, why not take for the subject of 
your first treatise — a — “ Laziness,” for instance, or“ Idiocy,” 
or a — a — oh ! any subject at all that is a familiar one. But 
be very careful, Miss Shepherd : don’t overwork yourself. 

Rachel. Oh ! my secretary will prevent that. 

Blank. Ah, yes, I see ; you are to do the brain work — 
he, the manual labor ; an excellent idea. How is Mrs. 
Shepherd to-day ? 

Rachel, (rising) About the same as she has been for 
the past three months. 

Blank. No improvement? 


IO 


PRO TEM 


Rachel. Very little. But you wish to judge for your- 
self, I suppose ? I will inquire if she is ready to see you. 

Blank. Thank you ; if you will be so kind. 

Exit Rachel, l. d. 

Blank, {looking after her) What an idiot that woman is; 
but a little attention won’t be wasted ; she may be of use 
some time. (Sits by table , down r. c.) — (thoughtfully) That 
secretary of hers — I wonder if he’ll be in the way. (De- 
terminedly) I hope not, for his sake. He had better mmd 
his own business and leave mine alone. I am not going to 
have my plans upset after three months of patient waiting. 

Three months for thirty thousand dollars ! I have cer- 
tainly made good use of the time as far as Mrs. Shepherd 
is concerned. She is entirely dependent upon me and I 
feel confident that I can persuade her to exert her influence 
with her niece in my behalf. When Bessie Martin returns 
I shall once more propose — after a few days of devotion. 
If she refuses me again ! Then .my chances for gaining 
her fortune will vanish and I must manufacture some other 
scheme for making money. Mrs. Shepherd is gradually 
recovering and it won’t be a very great while before my 
services will be unnecessary. 

I can’t say that I relish the idea, for the past three months 
have been unusually pleasant ones. I have not only been 
received as a member of the family, but I have been paid 
handsomely in addition. I must confess my practice doesn’t 
amount to much outside of this house. But Mrs.. Shepherd 
is growing stronger. (Thoughtfully) If I — could — (struck 
with an idea) By Jove ! An ideal What was that I read 
in the paper only last week about a New York physician ? 
He gave his patient medicine which would weaken instead 
of strengthen. Why cannot I adopt a similar plan ? No one 
would be the wiser. Yes — I’ll do it. (Taking a prescription 
book and pencil from his pocketl) I can compel the aunt to 
support me, if the niece should refuse. ( Writes prescrip- 
tionl) There ! A solution of arsenic. I’ll direct Mrs. 
Shepherd to get this medicine and it will be in readiness. 

Enter Mrs. Shepherd, l. d., supported by Rachel. 

Blank, (sees them and rises) Ah, Mrs. Shepherd ; good 
morning. Allow me to assist you. (Goes to her and supports 
her toward arm-chair by fireplace , L.) 

Mrs. S. No, no ; not there, Doctor — I can’t endure the 
heat. 

Blank. Of course you can’t — how very thoughtless in 


PRO TEM 


II 


me ! I will move the chair this way and put the screen 
between you and the fire. {Moves the arm-chair, l. c.) 
There — that’s better. 

(Mrs. S. sits. Blank arranges the screen) 

Rachel, {to Mrs. S.) I think you are looking better to- 
day, my dear. 

Mrs. S. Better 1 How can you say such a thing, Rachel, 
when you see how greatly I am suffering! 

Rachel. ( sympathetically ) Oh ! I am very sorry. 

Mrs. S. ( sobbing ) I shall never be well again, never! 

Blank. Oh ! yes, my dear Mrs. Shepherd ; we hope to 
have you all right in a very few weeks now. {Aside) If her 
niece consents to marry me. 

Mrs. S. And you think I will completely recover my 
health ? 

Blank. Undoubtedly, madam. I am looking forward 
with great pleasure to that happy moment. 

Mrs. S. O Doctor! you are so good. 

Rachel. So thoughtful ! 

Blank, {aside) So artful ! 

Mrs. S. Rachel, I have forgotten my smelling salts — 

Rachel. I will get them. Are they in your room ? 

Mrs. S. I think so. 

Exit Rachel, l. d. 

{To Blank) Doctor, I wanted an opportunity to thank 
you for your great kindness toward me during my illness 
of the past three months. 

Blank. Not at all, madam, not at all. I am sure it has 
been a pleasure to attend you. {Aside) That has a double 
meaning. 

Mrs. S. You didn’t come yesterday! I missed your 
daily visit. 

Blank. An important case out of town. 

Mrs. S. You are so different from others ; you under- 
stand me so perfectly. Others seem to have no sympathy, 
while you — 

Enter Logan, d. f. 

Logan, {interrupting. Speaking to Leslie without) Step 
right in here, sir, if you please. 

Mrs. S. {to Blank — not perceiving Logan) Did you 
speak ? 

Enter Leslie, d. f. 

Leslie. Beg pardon, but a — a — I — I thought Miss Shep- 
herd was in here. 


Exit Logan, d. f. 


12 


PRO TEM 


Mrs. S. {to Blank) Who is it ? 

Blank. A young man to see Miss Shepherd. 

Mrs. S. Rachel doesn’t wish to see any young man ; tell 
him she is busy. 

Leslie, {advancing down c.) But I have an appointment. 

Mrs. S. Then you had better go keep it. 

Leslie. I mean with Miss Shepherd. 

Mrs. S. I don’t believe it ; Miss Shepherd doesn’t make 
appointments with young men. 

Leslie. But my dear madam, I — 

Mrs. S. {interrupting sharply) Don’t become familiar, sir ! 
( To Blank) Doctor, kindly assist me. {Rises) I shall npt 
remain to be insulted. {To Leslie) You are no gentleman 
to speak as you have to an invalid. {Begins to cry.) 

Leslie. I am very sorry if — 

Blank. {interrupti?ig) You should be ashamed of your- 
self, sir. 

Mrs. S. Come, Doctor; we will leave this room. {Goes 
toward l. d., supported by Blank.) Men are so cruel ; they 
have absolutely no sympathy. 

Exeimt Mrs. S. a?id Blank, l. d. 

Leslie. Well, this is a warm reception. Now, what did 
I say to offend her ? I’m sure I didn’t intend to hurt her 
feelings, but I seem to have done it. And that doctor — I 
don’t like him. That nasty sneer of his isn’t becoming. I 
hardly know whether to remain or leave. But I suppose 
I had better keep the appointment even if Miss Shepherd 
doesn’t. {Sits in arm-chair , l. c. Looks at watch.) Eleven 
o’clock ! That’s punctuality for you ! I was due here at 
nine. But hang it all ! I can’t break myself into the life of 
a private secretary in a day. It will take practice. Besides, 
I am only a Secretary, Pro Tern. I wonder what in the 
world I answered her advertisement for, anyway. No, I don’t 
wonder — I know perfectly well. I’ll prove to Miss Martin 
that I’m good for something. But the idea ! {Laughs) Ha — 
ha — ha. A man with a fortune, to come down here to this 
little out-of-the-way town and hire himself out as a private 
secretary at twelve dollars a week. Why it’s ridiculous ! 
But it’s all her fault. If I hadn’t met her last summer I 
would be lunching at the club now. But I had no business 
to ask for an introduction. “ An idle man can never be an 
idol for any one.” That’s what she said. It’s a good pun, 
but it’s a — too personal. She thought I was lazy, but I’m 
not. I am just bubbling over with energy. Didn’t I study 
medicine for. an entire year ! I would be a practicing 


PRO TEM 


13 


physician now if I hadn’t fallen heir to Uncle Dan’s fortune. 
I am very determined too, and when I told her that after I 
readied home I would get to work at something, I meant 
it. The question was, what? And how could I, living in 
New York, proveto Miss Martin, living in the little town of 
Hallsboro, that I was working at an honest occupation? 
It’s fortunate that advertisement caught my eye, or the 
question might have remained unanswered forever. “ A 
Private Secretary.” It’s a good thing Miss Shepherd didn’t 
ask for references, for I have none. {Rising) And now 
where is Miss Martin ? That’s the next question. It’s 
curious that no one seems able to answer my inquiries. 
She told me she lived in Hallsboro, I’m sure of that. 

Enter Oscar Wolcott, d. f. 

{He talks with a hesitating , namby-pamby manner through- 
out) 

Oscar. How — de — do! {Trips over the mat and falls 
sprawling) • 

Leslie. Good morning. 

Oscar, {sitting upon the floor) Now do you know, I — I 
believe I’m the clumsiest fellow alive. 

Leslie. On the contrary, that was a very graceful 
tumble. 

Oscar. Think so? Well it should have been. I’ve had 
plenty of practice. Seems to me I trip over that mat every 
time I enter the room. 

Leslie. You take it very good naturedly. 

Oscar. If I didn’t I’d be in a temper most of the time. 
{Rising and picking up mat ) Now what is there extraordi- 
nary about that mat ? No, it must be my clumsiness. Is 
Mr. Shepherd at home ? 

Leslie. I really can’t tell you, sir. 

Oscar. Can’t you? I— I didn’t know, you know, 
whether you had seen him. 

Leslie. Not this morning. 

Oscar. You know him, don’t you ? 

Leslie. Oh ! yes. 

Oscar. I don’t remember ever having met you before, 
but I — I suppose you’re a friend of the family. 

Leslie. Well, a — not exactly. I am Miss Shepherd’s 
private secretary. 

Oscar, {surprised) Eh ! I — I didn’t know she had one. 

Leslie. She hadn’t until yesterday. 

Oscar, {thoughtfully) A private secretary! Now do 
you know, that’s awfully interesting. 


U 


PRO TEM 


Leslie. (. sarcastically ) Awfully. {Aside) You might think 
I was an Egyptian mummy. 

Oscar. And I — I suppose you are terribly poor. 

Leslie. Poor ! oh ! no, I — {recollecting) Eh ! oh ! yes, 
yes, I didn’t understand ; terribly poor. 

Oscar. Dear me ! 

Leslie. And it makes it so hard to bear, because I used 
to be very well off. % 

Oscar. I — I suppose so. Have you been a — a private 
secretary long ? 

Leslie. You mean have I had much experience ? 

Oscar. Just so. 

Leslie. Oh ! yes, years of experience. 

Oscar. You don’t say ! And I — I suppose you know lots 
of great men. 

Leslie. Any number of them. 

Oscar, {pleased) Do you though ? 

Leslie, {aside) Club men. 

Oscar. Give me your hand, sir. ( They shake hands.) 
I’m very proud to make your acquaintance, Mr. a — a — I 
don’t think you mentioned your name, did you ? 

Leslie. Leslie. 

Oscar. Mr. Leslie ! My name’s Wolcott — but they all 
call me Oscar. You see, every one knows me so well in 
Hallsboro. {Standing off and surveying Leslie.) Now do 
you know I — I didn’t think a private secretary looked as 
you do. 

Leslie, {provoked) I suppose you expected goggles, 
long hair, and shiny clothes. 

Oscar. No, not exactly — but you’re a — too handsome. 

Leslie. Well, that’s my misfortune — not my fault. {Aside) 
He is a very pleasant fellow. {A pause.) 

Oscar. I — I have been wondering, Mr. Leslie, if you 
ever give advice. 

Leslie. Sometimes. 

Oscar. Would you give me a little ? 

Leslie. Certainly, if a little would benefit you any. 

Oscar, {sitting by table down r. c.) Thanks. The 
opinion of a man with your experience ought to be very 
valuable. 

Leslie. That depends. 

Oscar. Yes, I — I suppose so. Well — I — I’m in love, 
you know. 

Leslie. Yes. 

Oscar. Who told you ? 

Leslie. You did. 


PRO TEM 


15 


Oscar. 

pause) 

Leslie. 

Oscar. 

Leslie. 

Oscar. 

Leslie. 

Oscar. 

Leslie. 


Oh ! (Aside) He’s awfully clever. (A slight 


Well — you are in love — 

Yes. 

That’s good. 

Think so ? But I’m in love with two girls. 
That’s bad. 

Isn’t it, though ? 

You had better stick to retail ; wholesale never 
pays — in love affairs. 

Oscar. I — I thought probably you’d had experience. 
But you don’t understand my case, you know. 

Leslie. Oh ! but I do, you know. You’re in love — with 
two girls — or you think you are. Matters are coming to a 
crisis and you wish to know which girl to jilt. 

Oscar. Oh ! no ; I love only one girl. 

Leslie. You said two. 

Oscar. But I didn’t mean two. 

Leslie. Well — you should say what you mean. 

Oscar. You see, it’s just this way : I am supposed to be 
in love with one girl, when really I am in love with the 
other, and the other girl, that is to say — the — the other one 
you know — - 

Leslie. ( interrupting ) Which is the other one ? Why 
not call one, “ Miss A.” and the other “ Miss B.” Perhaps 
you can keep things clearer. 

Oscar. Not A. and B., but B. and L. 

Leslie, (indifferently) Suit yourself. 

Oscar. Well, people thought that I would marry my 

Cousin B when 1 was a boy — that is, when I was a 

boy, you know, they imagined — 

Leslie, (interrupting) Yes, I understand; you can skip 
that. 

Oscar. My uncle had the same idea, and, to tell the 
truth, I thought so myself. 

Leslie. I don’t see the difficulty. Has your uncle changed 
his mind? 

Oscar. No, but I have. 

Leslie. But how about the girl ? 

Oscar. Which one ? 

Leslie. Your cousin. 

Oscar. I — I am afraid she hasn’t changed her mind. 

Leslie. Then she thinks you are going to marry her ? 

Oscar. I suppose so. 

Leslie. Well ? 

Oscar. I don’t love her, you know. 


16 


PRO TEM 


Oh ! that’s where the other girl, Miss L., comes 

Just so. It’s a very bad case. 

What? 

It — my love, you know. 

You love this other girl, Miss L., to distraction, 


Leslie. 

in. 

Oscar. 

Leslie. 

Oscar. 

Leslie. 

I suppose. 

Oscar. I — I suppose so. 

Leslie, {aside) He appears doubtful. 

Oscar. But I thought perhaps I — I ought to marry my 
cousin. 

Leslie. Yes, it looks very much that way. 

Oscar, {dolefully) Think so ? I was afraid you would. 
Leslie. Well, you asked for my advice. It would be 
far better for your heart to break than your cousin’s, you 
know. 

Oscar. Perhaps so. 

Leslie. Of course, if she should refuse to marry you — 
Oscar. ( intermipting ) Oh ! but she won’t. No such good 
luck. But I’ll. do it. She is coming home in a day or two, 
and I’ll propose, even if my heart does break. 


Enter Shepherd, r. d., carrying letters in his hand. 

Shepherd. Oscar, my boy, good morning. {Perceiving 
Leslie) And here’s our secretary. Hope I see you well, 
sir? 

Leslie, (l.) Very well indeed, thank you. 

Shepherd. Hasn’t my sister made her appearance ? 

Leslie. Not yet, sir. 

Shepherd. Probably she is not aware that you are here. 
{Calling off L.) Rachel ! {To Leslie) Take a seat, sir ; she’ll 
be here presently. (Leslie sits in arm-chair , l. c. To Oscar) 
Here’s good news for you. She’s coming home to-day. 

Oscar. To-day! 

Shepherd. Yes, some time this morning {givbig Oscar 
letter). Just look what train she says, will you, while I see 
what these are ? {Sits l. of table, r. c., and opens letters.) 

Oscar, (c., aside to Leslie) The Fates are against me ! 
You hear? My cousin is coming home this morning. 

Leslie, {aside to Oscar) You have my deepest sympathy. 

Oscar, {reading letter) “ Dear Uncle — I expect to return 
home Thursday morning on the ten o’clock train. I have 
purchased — ” 

Shepherd. ( reading from a letter which he has opened) “A 
few bottles of superfine hair-restorer, twenty-five cents a 
bottle.” ( To Oscar) Here, Oscar, throw this in the fire {gives 


PRO TEM 17 

Oscar letter). What the deuce do I want with hair-restorer ? 
(Oscar goes to fireplace , l.) 

Leslie, (aside) No, he has no hair to restore. 

Oscar. It wouldn’t do any harm to try a bottle, uncle. 

Shepherd. Eh ? 

Oscar. I — I should say — 

Shepherd ( interrupting ) Nothing, if you can’t be less per- 
sonal. (Oscar throws Bessie’s letter in the fire by mistake .) 
Well, let’s hear the rest of the letter. I haven’t had a chance 
to read it yet. What time did you say she was coming? 

Oscar, (reading from the hair-restoring advertisement) 
“Two weeks; money refunded if not satisfactory; best 
references.” 

Shepherd. What’s that ? I told you to throw that adver- 
tisement in the fire. 

Oscar. I thought I did. I — I am afraid I’ve made a mis- 
take. 

Shepherd, (rising) You don’t mean to say that you have 
destroyed the wrong letter? Well, you are a — a — (hesi- 
tates). 

Oscar. The clumsiest fellow alive. 

Shepherd, (magnanimously) Oh ! that’s all right, Oscar, 
that’s all right. It was a bad blunder, but I must make 
allowances. 

Leslie.- (aside) Yes, he should consider the source. 

Oscar. Now, do you know, I’m terribly sorry. 

Shepherd. Of course you are, but it can’t be helped. 
If we only knew what train she was coming on. 

Leslie, (rising) I think the letter said ten o’clock, sir. 

Oscar. Yes, that was it — ten o’clock. 

Shepherd. Then, by jingo! we ought to be off. (To 
Leslie) Do you happen to have a watch about you ? 

Leslie, (rising, looks at watch) A quarter-past eleven. 

Shepherd. By Jove ! we’ll have to hurry if we want to 
meet her at the station. (Enter Rachel, l. d.) Just wait a 
moment, Oscar, and I’ll get my hat and coat. ( To Rachel) 
Why, Rachel, where have you been all this time ? Mr. Leslie 
has been waiting for you a half-hour or more. ( To Oscar) 
I’ll be here in two seconds, Oscar. 

Exit Shepherd, r. d. 

Rachel, (bashfully) Good morning, Mr. Leslie. I — I hope 
you have not been waiting as long as my brother says. 

Leslie. No, oh ! no ; only a few moments. (Aside) I 
should have been here two hours ago. 

Oscar. Now, do you know, aunt, you didn’t tell me you 
2 


i8 


PRO TEM 


had a private secretary. I think it’s awfully interesting — 
really. He has been telling me all about the great men he 
knows. (Leslie makes signs to him to stop.) If I had been — 

Enter Shepherd, r. d. 

Shepherd. All ready, Oscar. Come, we must make 
haste. (. Pushes Oscar before him up c. To Leslie) Ten 
o’clock, you thought that train was ? It would never do 
to have my niece arrive and no one there. to meet her. 

Exeunt Shepherd and Oscar, d. f. 

Rachel. My niece coming home to-day ! Why, we did 
not expect her before the end of the week. 

Leslie. I believe Mr. Shepherd has just received a 
letter saying that she intends to return this morning. 

Rachel. Ah, that is why I have not heard of it before. 
And now don’t you think we had better begin ? 

Leslie. ,By all means. {Aside) I wonder what she is 
going to give me to do. 

Rachel, {sits r. of tablet) I think we came to an 
understanding yesterday as to the hours, and the a — a the 
the amount of your — your remuneration. 

Leslie. I believe so. {Aside) Twelve dollars a week! 
{Sits l. of tablet) 

Rachel, {aside) I must speak to him in a decided 
manner about being late. {To Leslie) Of course, Mr. 
Leslie, you understand that I expect you to be punctual. 
Nine o’clock every morning. I cannot allow you to come 
so late as you did to-day. 

Leslie, {aside) By Jove! She is going to be strict. 

Rachel, {aside) It is very hard to be stern with him ; he 
is so handsome. 

Leslie. I am; indeed, extremely sorry for my lack of 
punctuality this morning. I feel sure my landlady would 
not have allowed me to oversleep myself had she known 
the great pleasure I had in view. 

Rachel {aside — pleased) He is perfectly charming ! 

Leslie, {aside) I hardly think a private secretary should 
flatter his employer, but it seems to have hit the target at 
least. 

Rachel, {examinmg articles upon table) I think we have 
everything necessary. 

Leslie. May I ask just what my duties are to be ? 

Rachel. Well — I — I have not fully decided yet. I ex- 
pect to write — or rather you are to write for me — some — a 
treatises. 


PRO TEM 


19 


Leslie, {aside) She is a litterateur ! {To Rachel) You 
will dictate, i suppose ? 

Rachel. Ye — es, I suppose so. 

Leslie. Unless you wish to write the treatises first and 
let me copy them. 

Rachel. Well — -just as you think best. 

Leslie. Pardon me — -just as you think best. {Impres- 
sively) You are but to command; I shall obey. 

Rachel, {aside) He is simply fascinating ! 

Leslie, {aside) I hit the bull’s eye that time. Flattery 
seems to be a winner. 

Rachel. Then, Mr. Leslie, if — a — you don’t object, I 
think I had better dictate. 

Leslie. I agree with you perfectly. {Aside) I might be 
unable to read her writing. 

Leslie, {to Rachel) I suppose your treatises will be 
upon literary subjects ? 

Rachel. Medical ones. 

Leslie. Indeed! {Aside) By Jove ! I didn’t know she was 
a doctress. 

Rachel. I have chosen as a subject for my first treatise 
— “ Laziness.” 

Leslie. Laziness ! {Aside) I wonder if she means any- 
thing personal. 

Rachel, {placing writing materials before him) Here is 
some paper and a pen. 

Leslie. You wish me to head the first page with the 
word “ Laziness ”? 

Rachel. Yes, I think so (Leslie writes). {Aside) How 
beautifully he writes ! {To Leslie) Now I must think for a 
moment {a pause). 

Leslie, {aside) Her thoughts don’t flow very freely this 
morning. 

Rachel, {dictating slowly) “ Laziness is the father of idle- 
ness.” 

Leslie, {aside) Some one has been telling her about me, 
that’s certain {writes). 

Rachel. Do you think I had better say, “ Laziness is 
the father or the mother of idleness ”? 

Leslie. “ Mother ” might be better. {Aside) I am sure 
the weaker sex is to blame. 

Rachel, {dictating) “ Laziness is the mother of idleness.” 

Leslie. That is a very pretty sentiment, Miss Shepherd, 
but do you wish me to repeat it ? 

Rachel. Don’t you think it would be more impres- 
sive ? 


20 


PRO TEM 


Leslie. No, a repetition can add nothing to such a power- 
ful truth. (A pause. Rachel appears lost in thought .) 

Leslie, {aside) She is getting up steam. 

Rachel, {dictating) “ There is a tide in the affairs of 
men — ” 

Leslie, {aside) That sounds rather familiar. ( Writes. To 
Rachel) Men or women ? 

Rachel. Men, I think. 

Leslie. You spoke of a mother, you know. 

Rachel. Perhaps I had better say both. 

Leslie. Then you should have two tides. 

Rachel. Yes. 

Leslie. A change in the quotation might have its ad- 
vantages ; it would make it more original. 

Rachel, {aside) How very intelligent he is ! 

Leslie. ( writing ) There — are two — tides — in the affairs — 
of — men — and women. ( To Rachel) Is that all ? 

Rachel. Oh ! no. There are two tides which a — a {hesi- 
tates). What do you think I had better say next ? 

Leslie. What next ? Let me see — there are two tides 
which — no earthly power can oppose ; how will that 
do ? 

Rachel. Beautifully! How very clever you are, Mr. 
Leslie. 

Leslie, {impressively) It is the inspiration, I assure you. 

Rachel. And then we can say — 

Leslie, {interrupting) Just one moment, please, until I get 
that thought of mine upon paper. {Aside) It may be my 
last brilliancy, and it’s valuable {writes hastily a7id the pen 
breaks). It was more than the pen could stand. Have you 
another ? 

Rachel. I — I am afraid not. 

Leslie. That’s too bad. With such a thought ringing 
in my brain — (Rachel rings bell on the table. Leslie 
springs to his feet , startled .) 

Rachel. I will send Logan for some. 

Enter Logan, d. f. . 

( To Logan) Logan, I want you to go to town and buy a 
box of assorted pens. 

Logan. Any sort, ma’am? 

Rachel. I said assorted. 

Leslie. Mixed, you know. 

Logan. Oh ! mixed. Yes, ma’am. 

Exit Logan, d. f. 


PRO TEM 


21 


Rachel. ( pushing arm-chair before fireplace , l., and sit- 
ting) Now, Mr. Leslie ; if you will kindly read what I have 
dictated. 

Leslie. ( sitting by table , r. c., reads ) “ Laziness is the 
mother of Idleness.” (Aside) I don’t care for that. (Read- 
ing) “ There are two tides in the affairs of men and women, 
which no earthly power can oppose.” (Aside) That’s my 
thought: I like it immensely. (To Rachel) But, Miss 
Shepherd, I understood that this was to be a medical 
treatise. 

RAchel. So it is. 

Leslie. Do you mean it is, or it will be ? 

Rachel. It will be. I — I — must study the subject a 
little from my books. 

Leslie. Ah ! I see. This is merely the introduction. 

Rachel. Yes. 

Leslie. And we will advance to the medicinal part of 
the treatise — 

Rachel ( interrupting ) When my books arrive. I ex- 
pected them by express this morning and why they have 
not come, I cannot imagine. 

Leslie. Perhaps they are at the express office. 

Rachel. Probably ; they are so dilatory in delivering 
packages. 

Leslie. I would advise — if you will allow me — that some 
one go after them. 

Rachel. Oh ! will you ? You are very kind to offer. 

Leslie, (aside) I didn’t know that I did. 

Rachel. I would not trouble you but — 

Leslie. ( interrupting ) Oh ! no trouble at all. (Aside) I’ll 
have to do it now. 

Rachel. You are very good. 

Leslie, (impressively) One is never troubled when there 
is an opportunity of doing Miss Shepherd a service. (Aside) 
Another bull’s eye shot. 

Exit Leslie, d. f. 

Rachel. He is bewitching ! And he is so obliging and 
so anxious to perform my slightest wish. I am sure he 
means all those nice things ; he says them so impressively. 
And why shouldn’t he ? No doubt he is very grateful to 
me for giving him employment ; probably I have rescued 
him from absolute poverty, and he looks upon me as his 
benefactress. Shall I encourage him ? Why not, if he 
really cares for me ? Ah, me — my heart answers the ques- 
tion : I can but follow where it leads. 


22 


PRO TEM 


Exit Rachel, r. d. Enter Lena and Oscar, d. f. 
Oscar trips over the mat. 

Lena. Why didn't you tell me that you were going to 
meet Bessie? Then I could have gone to the station in- 
stead of coming here. 

Oscar. But I wasn’t going to meet her. 

Lena. You just said so. 

Oscar. Uncle Raymond wanted me to accompany him. 
But when I saw you I told him I — I had something import- 
ant to tell you and left him. 

Lena. I was coming here to welcome Bessie. She wrote 
me that she expected to reach home this morning. 

Oscar. So she will — in a few minutes. ( Aside — deject- 
edly) And then I must ask her to marry me. 

Lena, (sitting by table , down l. c.) Well — what have 
you to tell me that is so important ? 

Oscar. You won’t be angry, will you ? 

Lena. Not unless you make me so. 

Oscar. I — I wanted to tell you, that — that I can’t tell you 
what I wanted to, because I must tell it to — a — to some one 
else. 

Lena. ( sarcastically ) That is very important. 

Oscar. Oh ! but it is, you know ; really. 

Lena. So very definite. 

Oscar. I — I was afraid you might not understand. 

Lena. I certainly do not. 

Oscar. Don’t you ? Why you see, it’s this way — I want 
to tell you something, but I can’t. 

Lena. Why ? 

Oscar. Because — 

Lena. Is it anything that I would care to know ? 

Oscar. I — I hope so. 

Lena, (aside) I’ll make him tell me. (To Oscar) I don’t 
believe it’s anything at all. You are just trying to make 
me curious. 

Oscar. Oh ! no ; I would far rather tell you, but — 

Lena, (interrupting) You could if you wished. (Rising 
and holding out her hand) We are friends, Mr. Wolcott, 
are we not ? 

Oscar, (taking her hand) Of course; great friends. 

Lena, (coyly) Well, don’t you think you ought to confide 
in your friends ? 

Oscar, (aside) By Jove ! I — I’m afraid I’ll have to. 

Lena. Especially a friend who takes such an interest 
in you ? 


PRO TEM 


23 


Enter Rachel, l. d. 

Oscar, (sees Rachel arid shakes Lena’s hand vigorously, 
pretending that she has just arrived ) How — de — do, Miss 
Bailey — how are you ? So glad to see you. 

Rachel. Where is Bessie ? 

Enter Shepherd and Bessie, d. f. 

Shepherd. Speaking of an angel — here she is. (All 
welcome Bessie.) 

Bessie. Home again ! 

Shepherd! “ From a foreign shore.” Yes, here you are; 
under your own vine and fig-tree. It seems a long while 
since you left. 

Bessie. Years. But none of you appear to have 
changed — unless it’s Oscar ; he has a worried look. What’s 
the trouble ? Have you been working too hard ? 

Oscar. Oh ! no. 

Bessie. I hardly imagined so. Perhaps you have 
missed the sound advice your cousin was always ready to 
give. 

Oscar. Ye — es ; I — I suppose so. 

Bessie. He appears in doubt. Never mind I will make 
up for loss of time. 

Rachel. Lunch will be ready presently ; won’t you go 
to your room first ? 

Bessie. By all means. Come, Lena, I want to tell you 
everything I have done. 

Lena. Everything ? 

Shepherd. Not everything, Bessie; or we will have to 
postpone lunch for a couple of days. 

Exeunt Rachel, Bessie, and Lena, r. d. 

Shepherd (throwing himself into easy -chair by table down 
l. c.) Oscar, that girl’s a jewel. I don’t know how we have 
done without her for so long. ( Taking a cigar from his 
pocket ) Will you join me ? 

Oscar. No, thanks ; I don’t feel like smoking at present. 

Shepherd. You don’t? You can’t be well (lighting 
cigar). But I wager I know the trouble. You’re in love. 

Oscar, (startled) Who — who told you? 

Shepherd. Your actions. Why, my boy, I’ve known it 
for the past ten years. 

Oscar (aside) He thinks I’m in love with Bessie. 

Shepherd. But you ought to be happy now that your 
charmer has returned. Love is a strange thing, though. 


24 


PRO TEM 


Oscar. Very. 

Shepherd. You can never tell how it is going to affect 
a person. 

Oscar. Never. 

Shepherd. Don’t you think it about time to propose ? 

Oscar. Ye — es ; I — I suppose so. 

Shepherd. Why shouldn’t you? You are a man of 
means, and you have my entire approval ; what more do 
you wish ? (Puts his feet on the table.) 

Oscar. Nothing more. (Aside) That’s far too much. 

Shepherd. Now this is what I call solid comfort. A 
good cigar, an easy chair, and somewhere to elevate your 
feet. I hardly think my wife would approve of my smok- 
ing here, but “ when the cat’s away,” you know. 

Enter Mrs. S., l. d., supported by Blank. 

Mrs. S. (; reprovingly ) Mr. Shepherd ! (Shepherd springs 
to his feet and hastily hides his cigar behind him.) Have you 
no feeling ? 

Shepherd, (nervously) Oh ! yes, my dear ; I — 

Mrs. S. ( interrupting ) You know that 1 can’t endure to- 
bacco. 

Shepherd. But, my dear, this is an unusually fine cigar, 
so I didn’t think you would object. 

Mrs. S. ( beginning to cry) You never think of my nerves. 

Shepherd. Oh ! yes I do, my dear; I am reminded of 
them so continually. 

Mrs. S. (viole?itly) You brute ! 

Blank. My dear madam, pray calm yourself. If Mr. 
Shepherd will kindly remove his cigar — 

Shepherd. With pleasure, and myself with it. (To 
Oscar) Come, Oscar, we will go to my room. Fortu- 
nately, smoking is allowed there. 

Exeunt Shepherd and Oscar, r. d. 

(Blank supports Mrs. S. to arm-chair , l. c.) 

Blank, (sympathetically) There, there, Mrs. Shepherd. I 
am sure your husband did not realize that he was being 
unkind. 

Mrs. S. (sobbing) He is a beast! 

Blank, (to Mrs. S., drawing a chair beside her) He for- 
gets what an invalid you are. 

Mrs. S. (wiping her eyes) He has no sympathy. He 
takes every opportunity to hurt my feelings. 

Blank. It is really too bad ! 


PRO TEM 


25 


Mrs. S. He acts as if he doubted my illness. 

Blank. He does not knowhow you suffer. {Aside) And 
no one else, either. 

Mrs. S. How can I go to him for help or advice when 
he places so little confidence in me ? 

Blank. It could hardly be expected of you, I am sure. 

Mrs. S. And yet an invalid is so often in need of assist- 
ance. 

Blank, {aside) Very often — I am glad to say. 

Mrs. S. Doctor — please tell me the truth — shall I ever 
recover ? 

Blank. I sincerely hope so. You are certainly stronger. 
{Taking prescription from his pocket) I have been thinking 
that perhaps a change of medicine might be beneficial, so I 
have written this prescription which you had better have 
filled. 

Mrs. S. For my nervousness? 

Blank. Well — a — no — not exactly. Do you wish a nerve 
tonic? {Taking prescription-book from his pocket) I’ll write 
you a prescription for one and you can get both medicines 
at the same time. ( Writes .) 

Enter Bessie and Shepherd, r. d. 

Bessie. ( running to Mrs. S.) Why, Auntie ! I am so glad 
to see you better. 

Mrs S. Better! How can you say so, Elizabeth? 
(Bessie greets Blank with a lack of cordiality .) 

Shepherd, {aside — to Bessie) Never tell your Aunt that 
she is looking better, or you will hurt her sensitive feelings. 

Exeunt Mrs. S. and Blank, l. d. Enter Lena and Oscar, 
r. d. 

Shepherd, {taking up paper from table down r. c. and 
reads) “ Laziness is the mother of Idleness.” 

Enter Rachel, r. d. 

Shepherd, {to Oscar) Oscar, some one has been writing 
up your genealogy. 

Rachel . {with dignity) Pardon me, that is mine. {Takes 
paper from Shepherd.) 

Bessie. Your genealogy, aunt ? 

Shepherd. Some of her literary efforts, I presume. 
Your Aunt Rachel has hatched out into a full-flown littera- 
teur ; with a private secretary and all that sort of thing. 

Bessie. A private secretary ! 

Oscar. Yes, and do you know he is awfully clever. 


2b 


PRO TEM 


Lena. And very handsome. I passed him as I was 
coming here. 

Rachel. ( proudly ) He was going for some medical 
works which I have purchased. 

Enter Leslie, d. f., carrying a large bundle before him.) 

Leslie. ( not perceiving the others) I am very sorry, Miss 
Shepherd, to have kept you waiting so long. 

Shepherd. Ah ! Here he is ! Let me introduce you, 
Mr. Secretary, to my niece. 

Leslie. ( recognizing Bessie, drops bundle) Miss Martin ! 

Bessie, {recognizing Leslie) Mr. Leslie ! 


CURTAIN 


Act II 


ONE WEEK LATER 

SCENE. — Handsomely furnished drawing-room at Raymond 

Shepherd’s. Mrs. Shepherd discovered sitting upon 

sofa down R., unrapping papers from two bottles. 

Mrs. S. How exceedingly dilatory that druggist has 
been. It is just a week to-day since I sent him the pre- 
scriptions and the medicine has only just come. 

Enter Rachel, l. d., dressed to go out. 

Rachel. Has he come yet ? 

Mrs. S. No ; probably he — 

Rachel. ( interrupting ) I declare, it is too bad. I espe- 
cially instructed him that he must always be punctual. 

Mrs. S. But, Rachel, I can’t see that it is any of your 
business. 

Rachel. None of my business ! 

Mrs. S. Dr. Blank chooses his own hours to visit me. 

Rachel. ( impatiently ) Dr. Blank! Who was speaking 
of Dr. Blank ? 

Mrs. S. I was. 

Rachel, {sharply) Well, I wasn’t. ( A slight pause.) 

Mrs. S. Rachel, I can’t understand you at all lately. You 
are so quick-tempered and — 

Rachel. ( interrupting ) Well, I’m sure I’ve enough to 
make me quick-tempered. 

Mrs. S. (aside) I don’t understand her ; she has altered 
so. 

Rachel. This is the second time he has been late. I 
forgave him the first. (Aside.) And I will have to forgive 
him again if he asks me ; he is so persuasive. 

Mrs. S. You mean Mr. Leslie, I suppose. 

Rachel. Of course. 

Mrs. S. It is absolute nonsense ; the way you act about 
that man. He is a rude, ungentlemanly — 

Rachel, (interrupting angrily) Now stop right there. I 
won’t hear another word against him : not one word ! He 
is my secretary, not yours. 


27 


28 


PRO TEM • 


Mrs. S. ( beginning to cry) Oh ! how can you speak so ? 
You seem to forget that I am an invalid. 

Rachel. You have no right to speak unkindly of Mr. 
Leslie, even if you are. {Aside) And I won’t permit it 
either. {Sits at table L. c. and writes .) {A pause) 

Enter Bessie, r. d. 

Bessie, {glances around the room — aside) He has not 
come yet. I wonder what makes him so late ! 

Rachel, {rising) Bessie, when Mr. Leslie arrives, give 
him this note and tell him that I am compelled to preside at 
a woman’s temperance meeting this morning, but I expect 
him to do his work just as if I were here. 

Bessie. Yes, Auntie. 

Rachel. I am very much provoked with him for being 
so late. 

Bessie. Shall I tell him that too ? 

Rachel. No ; I — I think not. {Aside) It would hurt his 
feelings so. {To Bessie) No doubt he will find it difficult to 
work in my absence, and if he needs any assistance — 

Bessie, {quickly) Yes, certainly; I will help him. 

Rachel. He will have to write in this room ; the library 
is to be swept to-day. 

. Bessie. Very well. 

Rachel. And see that he is kept busy until my return. 
{Goes up stage.) 

Bessie. Never fear ; I will make him work very hard. 

Rachel. But, Bessie, don’t — don’t let him overwork him- 
self. He might become ill. 

Bessie. Oh ! I won’t. 

Rachel. I must make haste. Tell him I will return as 
soon as possible. 

Bessie. I will. 

{As Rachel is about to exit , d. f., Blank enters , d. f.) 

Blank. Why, good morning, Miss Shepherd, good 
morning. That was almost a collision. I didn’t— 

Exit Rachel, d. f., hurriedly. 

{Aside) She seems to be in haste. 

Mrs. S. {languidly) Doctor, I have been expecting you for 
some time. 

Blank. I am very sorry, indeed — an unavoidable deten- 
tion, I assure you. {To Bessie) Good morning, Miss Bessie ; 


PRO TEM 


29 


you are certainly a charming picture of health. {Advances 
toward her with hand outstretched. Bessie bows with dignity 
and turns away) 

Exit Bessie, r. d. 

Blank, (aside) Very good ; but you must give me an an- 
swer to-day. 

Mrs. S. Doctor, the medicine has come at last. 

Blank. (i?ite rested) Ah ! 

Mrs. S. I suppose the druggist had to send to New York 
for it, as usual. 

Blank. No doubt. He never has the need for much 
stock. ( Extending his hand ) May I look at it ? 

Mrs. S. Certainly. (Gives him the bottles) 

Blank, (after reading the prescriptions upon the bottles) 
Yes, these appear to be correct. 

Mrs. S. Shall I take a dose now ? 

Blank, (hesitating) Well — a — well — a — no. Suppose you 
wait until to-morrow. I want to see how — how matters 
stand by this evening. (Designating a bottle) This is a nerve 
tonic. Take a tablespoonful two or three times a day. (Des- 
ignating the other bottle) And this — well, this is to — to build 
up the system generally. Take ten drops, morning and 
evening. But wait until to-morrow, Mrs. Shepherd, wait 
until to-morrow (rises, and going L. c., places the bottles upon 
the table). Be careful not to confuse the two bottles, Mrs. 
Shepherd ; they are very similar in appearance. (Aside) I 
don’t want to poison her. (7b Mrs. S.) But I am forgetting 
to ask after the state of your health. How are you feeling 
this morning ? 

Mrs. S. Slightly stronger, I think, Doctor. 

Blank. My prophecy is coming true, you see. But you 
must be very careful not to over-exert yourself. Perhaps 
you have had enough excitement for to-day. 

Mrs. S. Yes, I am beginning to feel weary. 

Blank. You had better retire to your room, don’t you 
think ? Let me assist you. (Assists Mrs. S. to rise) Yes, 
you are certainly steadier upon your feet. No doubt, now 
that your strength is returning, your health will improve 
rapidly. (Aside) I will ask her to recommend me to her 
niece’s favor. ( To Mrs. S. ivhile supportmg her) Not too 
fast, Mrs. Shepherd. Lean upon me a little more. 

Mrs. S. O Doctor ! you are so kind. 

Blank. To myself, madam; kind to myself. 


Exeimt Blank and Mrs. S., l. d. Enter Bessie, r. d. 


30 


PRO TEM 


Bessie. What can detain him ? He hasn’t been late 
since — since 1 came home. How noble in him to work as 
Aunt Rachel’s secretary, when he is not in need of money. 
( Struck with a sudden thought .) Can he have returned to 
New York? Aunt Rachel employs him by the week, and 
the first week ended yesterday. Perhaps he has tired 
already of working — but no ; he wouldn’t run off wdthout — 
without saying “ good-bye.” 

Enter Oscar, c. d. 

Oscar. Good-bye ! 

Bessie ( startled ) Oh ! 

Oscar. You mean, “ Good morning.” 

Bessie. Oh ! it’s you. 

Oscar. Yes, I — I believe so. 

Bessie. Where have you been for the past week ? 

Oscar. ( carelessly ) Oh — nowhere. I — I’ve been very 
busy, you know. 

Bessie. We thought you were never coming near us 
again. 

Oscar. Did you though ? Well I wouldn’t have, but — • 
I — I — I mean, you know — ( hesitates .) 

Bessie. Oh ! don’t be embarrassed. 

Oscar. You see, I received a letter from — from Uncle 
Raymond this morning saying that he wished to see me 
immediately ; so I thought I would have to come, you know. 
( Anxiously ) He isn’t about is he ? 

Bessie. Oh ! yes. But you don’t appear very anxious to 
see him. 

Oscar. I — I’m not — that is — I — I am so very busy, you 
know. 

Bessie, (aside) I wonder what that important communi- 
cation is about. It seems to have frightened Oscar con- 
siderably. 

Oscar, (aside) Uncle Raymond is going to force me to 
propose to Bessie ; I’m sure of it. (Sits dejectedly r. of 
table l. c.) 

Bessie. What has made you so busy lately ? Business ? 

Oscar. N — no, not exactly. I have no business. 

Bessie, (warmly) And you ought to be ashamed of your- 
self too. 

Oscar, (indifferently) I — I suppose so. 

Bessie. How many times have I lectured you about 
your being without an occupation ? 

Oscar, (yawning) I never kept the score. 


PRO TEM 


31 


Bessie. A man can work at an honest employment and 
be a gentleman, and, in my opinion, a far better one than if 
he were idle. 

Oscar. ( yawning ) Yes, I — I suppose so. 

Bessie. I know so. 

Oscar. How do you know? You never tried being a 
gentleman. 

Bessie. Take — take Mr. Leslie, for instance. 

Oscar. Awfully clever, isn’t he ? 

Bessie. He is a gentleman. 

Oscar. Of course ; but now, do you know, there’s a great 
difference between Leslie and me. 

Bessie. A very great difference. 

Oscar. If I were poor, perhaps — 

Bessie. ( interrupting ) Poor! Mr Leslie isn’t poor. 

Oscar. Oh ! but he is, you know. 

Bessie. But, Oscar, you must be mistaken ; he was not 
poor last summer. 

Oscar. You can’t tell ; he was probably taking his vaca- 
tion when you met him. But I know he is poor, for he told 
me so. 

Bessie. He told you! 

Oscar. Yes ; he was very confiding — really. He used 
to be wealthy — 

Bessie. Has he lost his money ? 

Oscar. I — I suppose so. He told me it made it very 
hard to bear poverty now. 

Bessie. Poor man ! 

Oscar. You see, I am not compelled to work, and he is. 

Bessie, {aside) And I — I thought he was doing it to please 
me ! 

Oscar, {rising) I — I think I will leave. I’m sure uncle 
isn’t at home. {Goes up stagei) 

Bessie. Yes he is ; I will call him. 

Oscar. Oh ! no, please don’t ; I — 

Enter Shepherd, r. d., hat in hand. 

Shepherd. Ah! good morning, Oscar. Just arrived? 
I am glad you considered my note of some importance. I’m 
also very glad that you came this morning, for I expect to 
be away this afternoon. 

Oscar, {aside) Why didn’t I wait ? 

(Bessie moves toward r. d.) 

Shepherd, {to Bessie) You needn’t go, my dear. Oscar 


32 


PRO TEM 


and I will take a little stroll in the garden. We can enjoy 
a smoke there, and your aunt won’t allow us that privilege 
here. 

Oscar, {aside) I can’t enjoy a smoke anywhere. 

Shepherd. Well, Oscar, if you are ready — 

Oscar. I — I suppose so. 

Shepherd, {aside) I’ll see that he proposes to Bessie at 
once ; he has procrastinated entirely too long. 

Exeunt Shepherd and Oscar, c. d. 

Bessie. The prospect of a conversation with uncle does 
not seem to be a very pleasant one to Oscar. I wonder 
what is the trouble. 


Enter Blank, l. d. 

(Bessie bows arid crosses toward r. d.) 

Blank. I pray you do not withdraw on my account, Miss 
Martin. I am going — presently. 

Bessie, {aside) What makes me have such an aversion 
for that man ? 

Blank. I should like to have a few words with Miss 
Martin, if she will permit me. 

Bessie. Well ! 

Blank. Won’t you be seated ? (Bessie hesitates — then 
sits upon sofa, r.) {Aside) If she refuses — the medicine 
must assist me. {Draws a chair beside sofa , r.) {To Bessie) 
Some three months ago, I did myself the honor to formally 
propose for your hand. 

Bessie. Doctor, I asked you to never speak of that 
again. 

Blank. Yes, I know, I know; but— a — circumstances 
compel me. You went away from home, whether to avoid 
me or not, I do not know. I tried to kill the great love I 
bore you, but I could not forget you for a moment, and now 
that you have returned ; now that I see you again, my love 
seems to burn ten times stronger than before. {Rising and 
approaching her from behind the sofa) Ah, do not cast me 
entirely from you. {Bending over her) Give me some hope. 
Three months ago you refused me, but now — 

Bessie, {rising and interrupting) The answer I gave you 
then must be your answer now. 

Blank. You can never love me ? 

Bessie. Never. 

Blank, {with determination i) Then I am sorry for you — • 


PRO TEM 


33 


Bessie. ( interrupting with dignity ) I do not ask your pity, 
sir. 

Exit Bessie, l. d. 

Blank. ( looking after her) Very well, Bessie Martin — I 
shall give you one more chance. If you refuse — 

Enter Leslie, c. d., hastily. Stops upon perceiving Blank. 

Blank. ( continuing ) To-morrow Mrs. Shepherd shall 
begin her new medicine, and its weakening effect will 
strengthen the need of my services. 

Leslie, (aside) What is this that he is plotting? (To 
Blank) Good-morning, Doctor. 

Blank, (startled, aside) The deuce ! Can he have over- 
heard. (To Leslie) Why, good morning, Mr. Leslie. What 
a rascal you are ! I suppose you have been here for some 
time, listening to me talking nonsense to myself. 

Leslie. Oh ! no; I just this moment came in. 

Blank, (relieved) Ah ! 

Leslie, (aside) I must not appear to have heard any- 
thing. 

Blank. I have a bad habit of talking aloud to myself, 
especially when I am worried about anything. 

Leslie. When you are worried ? 

Blank. Yes ; y — you see, I — I — forgot to bring some 
essential medicine. Naturally I would be worried, wouldn’t 

I? 

Leslie. Very natural indeed. (Aside) I believe I 
worry him far more than his forgetfulness does. (Sits r. of 
table , l. c.) 

Blank. Mr. Leslie, if you have just arrived you are 
quite late this morning. 

Leslie. Yes — an unavoidable detention. 

Blank, (laughing) That’s my favorite excuse. 

Leslie. I assure you I would not have used it had I 
known. 

Blank. Oh ! it is not copyrighted. (Sits in arm-chair , 

R. C.) 

Leslie, (sarcastically) If it were, no doubt the right would 
have expired. 

Blank. It has been used so long, you mean ? (Forcing 
a laugh.) Ha! ha! ha! Very clever, indeed ; very clever. 

Leslie, (dryly) Thanks. 

Blank. Candidly, now, Mr. Leslie, you don’t like me — 
do you ? 

3 


34 


PRO TEM 


Leslie. Candidly, Dr. Blank, I think the dislike is mu- 
tual. 

Blank. Oh! no. 

Leslie. No ? ( Sarcastically ) You are very fond of me, 

I suppose. 

Blank. ( impatiently ) Come, come, young man ; I wouldn’t 
be so sarcastic, if I were you. 

Leslie. Pardon me, but if you were I, you would think 
and speak as I do. 

Blank. Sarcasm never pays — especially not upon me. 
{Rising, a?id altering his manner) Why not be friends ? 
{Extending his hand ) You would find it to your advantage. 

Leslie. I hardly think we are birds of a feather, Doctor. 
We do not agree — except, perhaps, upon one point. 

Blank. And that ? 

Leslie. I have noticed that your motto seems to be, . 
“ Look out for number one ” — namely, Dr. Blank ; it is a 
very wise motto. 

Blank, {aside) The insolent puppy! ( To Leslie) Very 
good, sir ; I do not wish to force my friendship upon you. 

Leslie, {sarcastically) You are very kind. 

Blank, {angrily) But some day you will regret this. 

Leslie, {coolly) I hope so. I may misjudge you. 

Blank, {excitedly) But I warn you, don’t blunder into my 
plans. 

Leslie. I’ll try not to. I am well aware that schemers 
are cruel beings. 

Blank, {furiously) Y — y — you cur ! 

Exit Blank, c. d. 

Leslie. {risi?ig) I’m a cur, am I ? I’ll make him pay for 
that remark. How true it is that “ one may smile and be a 
villain.” If Dr. Blank had lived in Shakespeare’s time I 
would know who inspired the poet to use those words. 
They say there are two kinds of hypocrites — the bold and the 
humble — and the humble ones are the worst ; but Dr. Blank 
is a mixture of the two — it depends upon his company. I 
am convinced that he is a thorough rascal. And he offered 
to be my friend ! {Sits in arm-chair , r. c.) I wonder if I 
look like a bad man. And yet — perhaps I did wrong in 
making him my enemy. I might have been able to keep 
others out of his web, but now — well, we understand each 
other, at least. What was he saying when I entered? “To- 
morrow Mrs. Shepherd shall begin her medicine, and it’s 
weakening effect will necessitate my services.” Why should 


PRO TEM 


35 


he wish to give her medicine that would weaken ? Strange ! 
From all that I can learn Mrs. Shepherd has been far too 
weak for the past three months. It seems to me that what 
she needs is something to strengthen her. I wonder what 
medicine he intends giving. ( Seeing the bottles of medicine 
upo?i the table , l. c.) Ah ! {Rising) The means for discover- 
ing are near at hand. ( Goes to the table , l. c., and takes up 
one of the bottles. After reading the prescription) Bromide 
solution. Nothing very weakening about that. Probably 
for her nerves. ( Takes up the other bottle. After reading ) 
Eh ! A solution of arsenic ! That would certainly have a 
weakening effect. Why, a tablespoonful would kill her. 
{Reading from the bottle) “ Ten drops — twice daily,” A small 
dose, but large enough to keep Mrs. Shepherd in a very 
miserable condition. What in the deuce is Dr. Blank going 
to give her arsenic for ? It reminds me of the case I read 
about in the newspapers a few days ago. I wonder — 
{Stops, thoughtfully) Can it be possible that Blank intends to 
follow a similar course and will keep Mrs. Shepherd in a 
weak condition, so that he can make a living at her ex- 
pense ? Why, that is what his words would imply when he 
said that the medicine would necessitate his services. By 
Jove ! It looks as if I had unintentionally blundered into a 
very pretty little scheme that Dr. Blank has plotted. If I 
have, I am going to do my best to destroy it. Let me see — 
suppose that I were a doctor — a rascally doctor — and a 
patient of mine upon whom I had lived for three months 
was on the road to recovery. The prospect would certainly 
not be very pleasing. By Jupiter! This is beGoming inter- 
esting. 

Enter Bessie, l. d. 

I certainly missed my calling. {Perceiving Bessie.) Good 
morning, Miss Martin. I have been sitting here thinking 
what a splendid villain I would make. 

Bessie. A villain.! 

Leslie. Yes. 

Bessie. Why ? 

Leslie. Why not ? 

Bessie. Because you are so late ? 

Leslie. Well — no. But I confess I owe you — I mean I 
owe Miss Shepherd an apology. My landlady was at fault 
again ; I overslept myself. 

Bessie, {trying to be severe) A very poor excuse, Mr. 
Leslie. 

Leslie. It is the only one I have in stock. 


36 


PRO TEM 


Bessie, {aside) I must try to be dignified. ( To Leslie) 
My Aunt was compelled to attend a woman’s temperance 
meeting this morning, but she requested me to inform you 
that she expects you to perform your — a — your — {hesitates) 

Leslie. My duty ? 

Bessie. Yes, duty — to perform your duty just as if she 
were here. 

Leslie, {aside) How very formal she seems. {To Bessie) 
I hope, Miss Martin, that I do not need to be reminded of 
my duty — nevertheless, I shall endeavor to obey your Aunt’s 
commands. 

Bessie. Here is a note she left for you. {Giving note) 
It contains her instructions. 

Leslie. Thank you. 

Bessie. And Aunt Rachel said that if you need any 
assistance — but I don’t suppose you do ? 

Leslie, {eagerly) Oh ! yes I do. 

Bessie. Perhaps Uncle Raymond can help you. 

Leslie. I — I — am afraid he would be of no assistance. 

Bessie. Do you — do you think I — I — could ? 

Leslie, {quickly) Of course — if only you would. 

Bessie, {hesitating) Well — 

Enter Logan, c. d. 

Leslie. It’s very good of you. 

Bessie. Logan, please bring the writing materials and 
papers from the table in the library. 

Logan. Yes, ma’am. Do you want the big books too, 
ma’am ? 

Bessie. No, I think we will not need them to-day. 

Leslie. No, not to-day. 

Exit Logan, l. d. 

Bessie. Dcn’t you think, Mr. Leslie, you had better read 
the note I gave you? {Sits R. of table, l. c.) 

Leslie. Yes, of course ; I had forgotten it. {Opens note 
and reads) “ Please copy what I dictated yesterday.” Why 
I did copy it. She surely doesn’t wish me to do it again. 

Bessie. I should hardly imagine so. Probably she for- 
got that you had already done it. 

Leslie. Well, what am I to do ? 

Bessie. I scarcely know ; unless — I — I might dictate to 
you. 

Leslie. The very thing. {Sits l. of table , l. c.) 


PRO TEM 


37 


Enter Logan, l. d. 

Logan. ( placing writing materials upon table) Anything 
else, ma’am ? 

Bessie. No, I think not. 

Logan, {aside) It looks as if Miss Bessie had hired the 
secretary too ; I reckon she’s more to his likin’ than Miss 
Shepherd. 

Exit Logan, c. d. 

Leslie. I am very glad that your Aunt is out. 

Bessie, {reprovingly) Mr. Leslie ! 

Leslie. I — I mean so that you can help me, you know. 

Bessie. I — I — think we had better begin. 

Leslie, {aside) She appears very anxious to make me 
work. 

Bessie. Instead of my dictating, suppose you do it 
while I write. 

Leslie. Why ? 

Bessie. Well, you are more accustomed to Auntie’s 
style. 

Leslie. Very well ; but I fear I shall make a very great 
failure. Miss Shepherd’s style is unique ; it belongs to a 
school peculiarly its own. 

Bessie. {pe?i in hand) I am all ready for you to begin. 

. Leslie. Hem ! What do you wish me to say ? 

Bessie. Is there nothing of Auntie’s that is unfinished? 

Leslie. Oh ! yes. In fact most of her essays. 

Bessie. Well, why not finish one ? 

Leslie. We might polish up her first attempt. 

Bessie. About “ Idleness ”? 

Leslie. “ Laziness ” is the title, I believe. 

Bessie. Practically the same thing. 

Leslie. That was one of your Aunt’s sentiments. 
{Searches among papers.) Here it is. 

Bessie {reads it) May I ask if this is her composition or 
yours ? 

Leslie. We share the honor. 

Bessie. Well — continue. 

Leslie. What was the last effusion ? 

Bessie {reading) “ There are two tides in the affairs of 
men and women which no earthly power can oppose.” 
What nonsense ! 

Leslie. It was Miss Shepherd’s dictation, you know. 
{A pause.) 

Bessie. Well — I am waiting. 

Leslie {aside) I must make a desperate effort. {Dictat- 


38 


PRO TEM 


mg) “ Laziness is inborn ” — (Bessie writes ) “ And we can 
truly say ” — 

Bessie {writing) “Truly say” — 

Leslie {looking at Bessie as she ivrites) What beautiful 
hair she has ! 

Bessie {quesiioningly) I beg- your pardon ? 

Leslie. How far have you ? 

Bessie. I — I — didn’t quite understand the last few words. 

Leslie. Where did I stop ? 

Bessie. You said “ We can truly say 

Leslie. Say what ? 

Bessie. I don’t know. 

Leslie. And I’m sure I don’t. There are so many 
things that we can truly say — {half aside) if we dared. 

Bessie. Suppose we pass by that sentence for the time 
being. 

Leslie. Perhaps it would be as well. Let me see — 
“ Laziness ” is the subject, isn’t it ? 

BsssrE. I believe so. 

Leslie, {aside) Another mighty effort. (. Dictating .) “ It is 
from the root of laziness that the tree of poverty springs.” 
{Aside.) That’s very good indeed. 

Bessie. That reminds me, Mr. Leslie ; I want to extend 
my sympathy to you in your loss. 

Leslie. My loss ! I am perfectly happy, Miss Martin. 

Bessie. Yes, I feel sure that you would try to bear the 
loss manfully and adapt yourself to the circumstances. 

Leslie, {aside) What the deuce is she talking about ! 

Bessie. It must be very hard to be poor when one has 
enjoyed wealth. 

Leslie. But, Miss Martin — 

Bessie, {interrupting) Oscar has told me. He said you 
had confided in him. 

Leslie, {aside) I begin to understand now. {To Bessie) 
So Oscar told you, did he ? 

Bessie. Yes. 

Leslie, {aside) Those lies of mine are coming home to 
roost. I had best keep up my reputation of adapting my- 
self to circumstances by doing it in this case. ( To Bessie) 
It is exceedingly kind in you, Miss Martin, to sympathize — 
{half aside) especially when no sympathy is needed. 

Bessie. I am so very sorry. 

Leslie. But to be poor is nothing to be ashamed of, is it ? 

Bessie. No, no. 

Leslie, And should a man allow his ambition and 
desires to be fettered by thoughts of poverty ? 


PRO TEM 


39 


Bessie. Certainly not. 

Leslie. ( leaning over the table , earnestly and slowly ) 
Miss Martin, suppose a man, poor, but with the determina- 
tion to succeed — should meet a woman whose love he feels 
would guide his efforts ; and suppose — 

Enter Shepherd and Oscar, c. d. 

Shepherd. You’re just the man I want to see, Leslie. If 
you can give me a few minutes. 

Bessie. But, Uncle, Mr. Leslie is very busy. 

Leslie. Yes, very busy. 

Shepherd. I appreciate that his time is valuable — but 
so is mine. 

Leslie. Well, sir, to oblige you. 

.Shepherd. Thanks, I won’t detain you but a moment. 
If you will accompany me to my study. 

Bessie. Why not remain here, Uncle ? I will go. 

Shepherd. No ; I prefer my study. Besides Oscar has 
something to say to you. ( Turning to Oscar) Am I not 
right ? 

Oscar. ( dejectedly ) I — I — suppose so. 

Exeunt Shepherd and Leslie, r. d. 

Bessie, {aside') I wonder what makes Uncle so mysterious. 
{Sits upon sofa r.) {A pause) Well ? (Oscar, with a very 
woful air , sits in arm-chair , r. c.) What is it you wish to 
tell me, Oscar ? 

Oscar. I — I — don’t want to tell you anything. 

Bessie. But Uncle said you did. 

Oscar. But Uncle doesn’t know. He wants me to tell 
you and so — a — 

Bessie, {laughing) You will have to do it ? 

Oscar. I — I — suppose so. 

Bessie. You are a very dutiful nephew. 

Oscar. Think so ? 

Bessie. ( proudly ) I am sure you are not compelled to 
tell me anything against your wish. 

Oscar. Oh ! but I am, you know. 

Bessie. I have no desire to hear it. 

Oscar. Perhaps not, but that doesn’t alter matters : I 
have no desire to tell it. {Aside) But I’ll have to, and the 
sooner it’s over the better. ( To Bessie) Bessie, brace your- 
self for a shock. I love you. 

Bessie. Love me ! 

Oscar. Y — yes — so Uncle says. 

Bessie. You love me. {Laughs heartily) 


40 


PRO TEM 


Oscar. ( laughing weakly ) Ha — ha; awfully amusing, 
isn’t it ? I suppose you didn’t know it before ? 

Bessie. No. 

Oscar. Neither did I. 

Bessie. It was very blind in me never to have noticed it. 

Oscar. Very. 

Bessie. And have you loved me a long time ? 

Oscar. Uncle says so. 

Bessie. It seems to me Uncle Raymond knows more 
about your love affairs than you do. 

Oscar. Oh ! no, he doesn’t. But Uncle says — {hesitates) 

Bessie. Well. 

Oscar. Uncle says that I — I — will have to marry you. 

Bessie. Marry me ! 

Oscar. Yes. 

Bessie, {rismg proudly) And am I to have no choice? 
Am I to be forced to marry a man who does not care for 
me and — 

Oscar. ( interrupting ) No, but — 

Bessie. ( interrupting ) I shall not do it. 

Oscar, (rismg eagerly ) You refuse to marry me? 

Bessie. Positively. 

Oscar, {delighted) You’re an angel ! Now, do you know 
I didn’t think you would. I — I — must go; important busi- 
ness, very important ; really. 

Enter Lena, c. d. 

O Miss Bailey ! — I am charmed — delighted. I was just 
coming to call. 

Bessie. You forget the important business, Oscar. 

Oscar. Oh ! no ! important business with Miss Bailey. 
( To Lena) I — I — want to tell you what I couldn’t say the 
other day, you know. 

Lena. Very well — after awhile — 

Oscar. Mo — no, I must tell you now. Won’t you come 
into the garden, please ? 

Lena. But, Mr. Wolcott — 

Bessie. Go, by all means, Lena : you will find it very 
interesting, I’m sure. 

Exeunt Lena and Oscar, c. d. (Oscar talking earnestly) 

Bessie. So that was the mystery. Poor Oscar ! How 
very difficult he found it to confess for me a love he did 
not feel ! And how happy he was when I refused him ! His 
style of love-making was certainly a novel one. I imagine 
it is very different in the garden at the present moment. 

Exit Bessie, l. d. Enter Shepherd and Leslie, r. d. 


PRO TEM 


41 


Shepherd. There’s no occasion for any further debate ; 
you know my wishes. 

Leslie. But you have given me no explanation, sir. 

Shepherd. Now, look here, Leslie — sit down. I thought 
it hardly necessary to enter into details ; but you don’t ap- 
pear to fully understand the case. 

Leslie. I must confess, I do not. (Si/s upon sofa , r.) It 
has been my wish ever since my niece and nephew were 
children that they should marry each other. It has been 
more than a wish ; it is a fixed purpose. (Sits in arm-chair, 
r. c.) There are several reasons why this would be very 
advantageous to each. In the first place, Oscar has con- 
siderable wealth, but he does not know how to take care of 
it. What he needs is a good, sensible wife to steady him. 
On the other hand, my niece is an orphan, with but little 
money, but blessed with an abundance of common sense. 
What more is to be wished ? 

Leslie. Love, sir. 

Shepherd. Love ! They have it. (Leslie attempts to 
speak but Shepherd continues .) Why they have been con- 
stantly together for years ; they are as good as engaged ; in 
fact, they are looked upon as an engaged couple, by all 
their friends. And now, sir, when my hopes are about to 
be realized, you come along and tell me you love her. 

Leslie. I would not have spoken, sir — at least not so 
soon — had you not mentioned the subject to me. 

Shepherd. I was compelled to, sir. Any one could see 
with half an eye that your attentions to my niece were not 
such as became a man in your position. 

Leslie, (quietly) The position of a private secretary is 
nothing to be ashamed of. 

Shepherd, (angrily — rising) No, of course not ; but you 
have become A Family Secretary , sir. You seem to forget 
that you are employed by my sister to work for her, and 
are not to meddle in the affairs of others. 

Leslie. (? ising — with dignity) Mr. Shepherd, I do not for- 
get that you are a gentleman, and I ask that you will re- 
member that I am one. 

Shepherd, (repenting his anger) You’re right, Leslie ; I 
spoke hastily. (Half aside) Confound my beastly temper ! 
I — I’m sorry that I have to kill your hopes in this way, but 
I had no idea that it had gone so far with you. But you 
see how it is, don’t you ? 

Leslie, (hesitating) Well — 

Shepherd. You don’t wish to stand in the way of my 
niece’s happiness ? 


42 


PRO TEM 


Leslie. Never, sir. 

Shepherd. I thought not. You’re a manly fellow, 
Leslie, and I like you. You would make a good husband, 
I feel sure of that ; but even supposing that my niece and 
nephew cared nothing for each other, there would still be a 
very great obstacle in the way of a marriage with Bessie. 

Leslie. What, sir ? Her lack of love for me ? 

Shepherd. No, your lack of money for her. 

Leslie, (eagerly’) If that is the only obstacle, I feel sure 
— (Recollecting — aside.) By Jove! I forgot that I had ac- 
knowledged myself to be poor. 

Shepherd. I know what you were going to say. Per- 
haps you can earn a good salary in time, but twelve dollars 
a week is all you make at present, I believe — you can’t save 
much out of that — and the future is very uncertain. 

Leslie, (aside) Why did I ever tell that lie ? 

Shepherd. I am very sorry for you, Leslie, but it can’t 
be helped. Oscar and Bessie love each other and — 

Leslie, (interrupting — passionately) They do not love 
each other ! 

Shepherd. Eh ! 

Leslie. Oscar told me that he loved Miss Bailey. 

Shepherd. What! Impossible! Why, sir, while we 
were in that room together, my nephew was in this, pro- 
posing to my niece. No doubt it is all arranged by this time. 

Eyiter Logan, c. d. 

( To Logan) Logan, where is Miss Bessie ? Have you 
seen her? 

Logan. No, sir. 

Shepherd, (goes up stage and looks out window ) Ah ! 
What did I tell you ? There she is in the garden. Look 
for yourself. 

Logan. That’s Miss Bailey, sir. 

Shepherd. Miss Bailey! With Oscar? 

Logan. I seen them goin’ out into the garden together, sir. 

Shepherd. But — but he has his arm around her waist. 
What’s he doing now ? (Excitedly.) Stop that, you rascal ! 
Stop I say ! 

Exit Shepherd, c. d., running, followed by Logan. 

Leslie. That doesn’t appear as if Oscar loved his cousin 
very much. Perhaps she refused him and — and — she's 
free ! (Dances aromid the stage.) But even if she cares for 
me, what can I do ? Here I am — a wealthy man — yet sup- 
posed to be poor. It’s generally the other way. Now how 
in the deuce — why of course — I will tell them the truth. 


PRO TEM 


43 


But they won’t believe it and why should they ? When I 
agreed to a lie they thought it the truth and now if I tell 
them the truth, they will certainly think it a lie. Mr. Shep- 
herd will say that I am pretending to have money, in order 
to overcome the obstacle to my marriage with his niece. 
No, I can’t tell them. I will have to become wealthy, some- 
how. If Uncle Dan had only postponed his death — By 
Jove! that’s a good idea. I’ll make him die over again. 
It’s rather hard on the old man, but it’s the only way he 
has ever been of service to me. It’s true I received all his 
money after his death five years ago, but it was not because 
he left it to me — Oh ! no — I was the only heir and he left no 
will. His death, then, brought me wealth ; his death now, 
will bring me a wife. Yes, my dear uncle, this is a case of 
“ your money or your life,” and since I know, were you 
alive, you would not help me with one cent of your money, 
I will take it by force and you must die. But when ? The 
sooner the better — to-night. To-morrow I shall receive a 
telegram from a lawyer announcing his death and inform- 
ing me that I am his heir. I will write that telegram now. 

( Goes to table , and writes.) There ! {Rising.) This will re- 
store me to my normal condition. ( Waving the paper above 
his head.) This will bring me wealth and the possibility of 
winning the dearest girl in the world. I am a Family 
Secretary, am I ? 

Enter Rachel, c. d. 

Henceforth I have but one aim in life — one desire — to 
work for the woman I love. I shall cease to be a secretary 
Pro Tern, and be her servant forever. How difficult it was 
while we were working together, to restrain myself from 
telling my love. I shall devote all my energies to win her, 
and if I fail — 

Rachel, {interrupting — coyly) You shall not fail. 

Leslie, {aside) The deuce! 

Rachel. I have heard your sweet words. You shall 
have your wish. 

Leslie. I shall ? Will you help me ? 

Rachel. With all my heart. 

Leslie. And how long do you think I must wait for my 
wish to come true ? 

Rachel. You can have it now. 

Enter Shepherd, c. d., and Bessie, l. d. 

Leslie {eagerly) Now! 

Rachel, {throwing her arms around him) Yes ; now and 
forever. 


curtain 


Act III 


AN INTERVAL OF TWENTY-FOUR HOURS 
SCENE. — The same as in Act I. 

Enter Shepherd, r. d. 

Shepherd. ( calling ) Bessie ! Bessie ! Where in the thun- 
der is that girl ! I am going to have this matter settled, once 
and for all. It has gone a great deal farther than I had any 
idea of. Why, I believe she is beginning to care for him. 
The idea ! Leslie is a nice fellow, a very nice fellow, but 
she ought to know that it takes more than an agreeable man 
to make a good husband. {Scornfully) Twelve dollars a 
week ! He is little better than a pauper. ( Sits by table down 
r. c.) How Oscar has upset all my plans ! But it wasn’t his 
fault. He proposed to Bessie, although he was in love with 
another girl. That’s what I call noble. Yes, she is to blame. 
What right had she to refuse him, I would like to know? 
She had no reason for doing it, unless — ( Hesitating ) I 

wonder if she loves Leslie ? Perhaps — if they would be 
happy I should — {Hesitates — Quickly) No ! no ! it is not 
to be thought of. Love won’t feed and clothe them. 

Enter Logan, d. f. 

Logan. Here’s a note for you, sir — -just come. 

Shepherd, {taking note) Any reply ? 

Logan. No, sir. 

Exit Logan, d. f. 

Shepherd, {opens note and reads) “ Dear Sir. Kindly in- 
form Miss Shepherd that I shall be unavoidably detained 
this morning ; the inclosed telegram will explain. Yours 
sincerely, Henry Leslie.” Where is the telegram ? Ah ! 
here it is. {Draws the telegram from envelope. Reads tele- 
gram, then gives a long whistle) Well, I’ll be blowed! 

Enter Oscar, d. f. 

Oscar, {tripping over mat) So will I. {Looking around 
room) H — has she been here ? 

44 


PRO TEM 


45 


Shepherd, (rises, handing telegram to Oscar) Oscar, what 
do you think of that ? 

Oscar, (takes telegram and reads it) I think that jolly 
lucky for Leslie. It was awfully kind of his uncle to die 
and leave him a fortune, wasn’t it ? 

Shepherd, (grasping Oscar’s hand, warmly) My boy, I 
can’t thank you enough for becoming engaged to Miss 
Bailey. 

Oscar. Where is she ? 

Shepherd. What you needed was a balance, and you 
have found one. You have my hearty approval. 

Oscar. Thanks, awfully. Have you seen her ? 

Shepherd. You and Bessie would never have been 
happy. 

Oscar. No, but — 

Shepherd, (interrupting) I know a man who will make 
her a magnificent husband. 

Oscar. I — I didn’t want her. 

Shepherd. You couldn’t have had her. 

Enter Logan, d. f. 

Shepherd. Logan, take this note and telegram to Miss 
Shepherd, and — no, you had better not. (Aside) Such news 
would make her only the more unreasonable. ( To Logan) 
Tell her that I have just received word from Mr. Leslie that 
important business will prevent him from coming this morn- 
ing. 

Logan. Yes, sir. (Goes toward l. d.) 

Shepherd. And, Logan — 

Logan, (slopping l.) Sir ? 

Shepherd, (inclosing telegram hi the envelope) You can 
give this note to Miss Bessie. 

Logan. Very good, sir. 

Shepherd. You understand ? 

Logan. Certainly, sir ; tell Miss Bessie that Mr. Leslie 
can’t come, and — 

Shepherd, (interrupting) No, no, no; not at all. Why 
don’t you pay attention ? Give the note to Miss Bessie and 
the message to Miss Shepherd. 

Logan. All right, sir. 

Shepherd. Now be sure you get it straight. If you 
don’t — 

Logan. I will, sir. 

Exit Logan, l. d. 

Oscar. Has Lena— I should say Miss Bailey — no, I 
shouldn’t — I mean Lena — have you seen her ? 


46 


PRO TEM 


Shepherd. No. 

Oscar. Dear me ! That’s awfully strange, isn’t it ? 

Shepherd. Not at all. 

Oscar. I called for her, you know, and they said she 
had come here. 

Shepherd. She hasn’t. 

Oscar. Hasn’t she, though ? Well, good-bye. 

Shepherd. Going? 

Oscar. Yes; I — I’ve a little affair to a — a — to attend to. 

Shepherd. Love affair, eh ? All right ; good-bye. 

Exit Oscar, d. f. 

Nothing could be better. Leslie’s esteemed uncle couldn’t 
have chosen a more appropriate time for his departure. The 
one obstacle has been removed, and — By Jove! There’s 
another. How am I going to bring the young folks together ? 
How can I tell Leslie I approve of the match when only 
yesterday I strongly objected ? It’s true that circumstances 
have greatly altered the case. Yesterday he was poor; to- 
day he is wealthy. But that’s just the difficulty. It would 
appear so deuced mercenary. He would think that his 
money was what we were after. I am afraid I have med- 
dled entirely too much as it is. I had better leave the ques- 
tion alone. But I want to see matters satisfactorily arranged, 
and since I caused the trouble I ought to be the one to — • 

Enter Rachel, l. d. 

Rachel. Where is Henry’s note ? 

Shepherd. You refer to Mr. Leslie, I suppose? 

Rachel, {excitedly) Let me see it! I must see it! 

Shepherd, {quietly) No, you mustn’t ; and what’s more, I 
won’t let you. 

Rachel. But it belongs to me. 

Shepherd. Oh ! no, it doesn’t. 

Rachel. Henry is mine, and — 

Shepherd. ( interrupting ) Rachel, what perfect nonsense ! 
I thought that after the lengthy debate we had last evening, 
you had given up such a preposterous idea. 

Rachel. Is it preposterous to think that he cares for 
me ? 

Shepherd. Very. You are no longer a girl. 

Rachel. Perhaps not, but — 

Shepherd. ( interrupting ) You are no longer young. 

Rachel. No ; nor foolish. 

Shepherd. I can’t agree with you there. You have no 
cause — 


PRO TEM 47 

Rachel. ( interrupting j I have every cause. Mr. Leslie 
told me that he loved me. 

Shepherd. He told you that ? 

Rachel, {hesitating) Well — not exactly in words. 

Shepherd. No, I thought not. His explanation is a 
very reasonable one. He was speaking of a girl whom he 
loves — (aside) It is very easy to guess who she is — (To 
Rachel) — Not knowing that you were in the room, you, 
very foolishly, thought yourself the girl. 

Rachel. But he embraced me. 

Shepherd. You embraced him, you mean. 

Rachel. Oh ! 

Shepherd. He was powerless. 

Rachel. Raymond ! 

Shepherd. Rachel! 

Rachel. How dare you speak so ! 

Shepherd. I am armed with the sword of truth. If you 
realize what an idiot you are making of yourself, you — 

Rachel, (interrupting— crying) You are a brute ! 

Shepherd. You are mistaken. 

Rachel. Your wife is right— you have no sympathy. 

Shepherd. Not with such conduct. 

Rachel. Dr. Blank says that you — 

Shepherd, (interrupting , angrily) I don’t care what Dr. 
Blank says. Tell him to mind his own business. I am 
tired of his interference in what doesn’t concern him. 

Rachel, (going toward r. d.) You are very unjust. 

Shepherd. You make yourself ridiculous. 

Rachel. You beast! 

Shepherd. You man-eater ! 

Exeunt Rachel and Shepherd, r. d., talking angrily. 

Enter Blank, d. f. 

Blank. No one here? Good. This morning Mrs. Shep- 
herd shall take her first dose of the arsenic. I shall go away 
for a day or two so that she shall appreciate the value- of my 
services. What a sniveller she is. And that girl : how I 
hate her with her prudish dignity. But I would have 
married her for her money’s sake, and I’d have broken her 
spirit very soon. 

Enter Rachel, r. d. 

Rachel. O Doctor! I am so glad you have come. 

Blank. Anything the matter with Mrs. Shepherd? You 
appear worried. 

Rachel. My brother is so unkind. 


48 


PRO TEM 


Blank. Impossible. 

Rachel. He treats me as he would a child. 

Blank. You amaze me. (Aside) She is old enough, cer- 
tainly. 

Rachel. And he has been saying the most unkind things 
about — about — (Hesitates) 

Blank, (encouragingly) Yes? 

Rachel. About you. 

Blank. About me ! 

Rachel. Yes, but it is because he is in such a temper. 
You won’t notice anything disagreeable he may say, will 
you ? 

Blank. Certainly not. 

Rachel. You are so forgiving ! 

Blank, (aside) I fear Shepherd doesn’t favor me. I hope 
I can carry out my plans without his interference. (To 
Rachel) Miss Shepherd, I realize that there are so many 
thoughtless things a man might say in anger that he w r ould 
not think of saying were his temper normal. I have en- 
deavored to serve your brother faithfully by bestowing my 
professional attentions upon his wife — 

Rachel. I am sure she, at least, appreciates your kind- 
ness. You are restoring her to health. 

Blank. She is better to-day ? 

Rachel. Yes, she appears much stronger. 

Blank, (aside) The medicine will soon weaken her. ( To 
Rachel) Is she ready to see me ? 

Rachel. I think so. Come with me, and I shall inquire. 

Enter Bessie, l. d. 

Blank, (to Bessie) Ah ! Good morning, Miss Martin. 
(Bessie bows coldly. To Rachel) After you, Miss Shep- 
herd. 

Exit Rachel, l. d. 

(To Bessie) You still hold to yesterday’s determination? 

Bessie. It is unnecessary to repeat what you already 
know. 

Blank. But is your decision final ? 

Bessie. Final. 

Blank, (with determination) Very good. I’ll make you re- 
gret that decision. 

Exit Blank, l. d. 

Bessie. What can he mean ? I surely am not to blame 
for being unable to love him. If I love another — (Stops 
a?id reads the note Shepherd has sent her) But does he care 


PRO TEM 


49 


for me ? ( Sitting by table , R. c.) Now that he is no longer 

poor, now that he is independent and there is no necessity 
for him to work, will he choose to marry — 

Enter Leslie, d. f., hurriedly . 

Leslie. Miss Martin ! 

Bessie. ( startled ) Oh! 

Leslie. ( eagerly ) Has he been here ? 

Bessie. Who ? 

Leslie. Dr. Blank. 

Bessie. Yes. 

Leslie. By Jove! ( Anxiously ) He hasn’t been here 
long ? 

Bessie. Only a few minutes, I believe. 

Leslie. Thank goodness ! I thought I should be too 
late. 

Bessie, {aside) I wonder what he is talking about. 

Leslie. Where is he now ? 

Bessie. Mr. Leslie, you seem to imagine that I am a bu- 
reau of general information. 

Leslie. No, no ; far from it. 

Bessie. That is going to the other extreme. 

Leslie, {aside) I was so interested in arranging Uncle 
Dan’s death that I entirely forgot Blank and his plans. I 
hope I am in time to spoil them. 

Bessie. Mr. Leslie, I received your note. I — I mean 
Uncle received it. 

Leslie. You understand matters, then ? 

Bessie. Yes, I think so. {Sits by table , r. c.) 

Leslie, {aside) I think not. I can’t accuse Blank without 
being sure that he intends to act the villain. 

Bessie. I was very sorry to hear of your uncle’s death. 

Leslie. It was quite an agreeable surprise, wasn’t it ? I — • 
I mean it was a great blow. 

Bessie. Was his death very sudden ? 

Leslie. Very. You see, when it was decided that he must 
die — {recollecting himself) that is to say, when the doctors 
had given up hope, you know, he — he thought he might as 
well depart. 

Bessie, {aside) Poor fellow! How bravely he tries to ap- 
pear cheerful ! ( To Leslie) I — I suppose you will — you will 
resign your position as secretary now. 

Leslie. Oh ! I don’t know. 

Bessie. Don’t you ? 

Leslie. I haven’t fully decided. I didn’t expect to come 
to-day, however — there are a number of things that require 
4 


50 


PRO TEM 


my attention — but I happened to remember that I had a 
special appointment with — with Dr. Blank. 

Bessie. Are you ill ? 

Leslie. No, not exactly. (A pause) Miss Martin, I have 
something important to say to you. 

Bessie. To me ! 

Leslie. Yes, it concerns a — a — some one else. 

Bessie. Then why do you speak of it to me ? 

Leslie. Oh ! it concerns you also. ( Sits c.) I — I scarcely 
know how to begin. ( A slight pause') Miss Martin, are any 
of your friends scoundrels ? No — no ; I don’t mean that. I 
mean do you know ^ny rascals or — 

Bessie. ( interrupting ) You seem to have a very poor 
opinion of my list of acquaintances. 

Leslie. Not at all : I have difficulty in expressing my- 
self, that is all. Let’s say, that I am a villain. 

Bessie. A villain ! 

Leslie. Well then, a rascal. Yes, a gentleman rascal. 

Bessie. But why should we say so ? 

Leslie. Oh ! just for amusement’s sake, you know. 

Bessie. I — T — think you must be ill, Mr. Leslie. 

Leslie. Perhaps so. I will consult Dr. Blank, presently. 
But let’s suppose that I am a rascal, and that I have planned 
to rob your aunt of her health and strength — 

Bessie. ( rising a?id interrupting) Mr. Leslie, I hardly 
think that a matter to jest upon. 

Leslie. ( rising — earnestly) Believe me, I was nevermore 
in earnest. I fear I have discovered a plot against your 
aunt. 

Bessie. A plot against Auntie ! 

Leslie. Yes ; I cannot tell you by whom — at least not 
now — but if you will give me the information I want, I may 
be able to prevent it. 

Bessie. ( hesitating ) But — 

Leslie. No time for buts now : we must act. Does your 
aunt know the nature of her medicine ? 

Bessie, (still hesitating) I do not think I ought — 

Leslie. (; interrupting ) Miss Martin, do you not trust me ? 

Bessie. Perfectly. 

Leslie. Do you not see that I am trying to serve you ? 

Bessie. Forgive me if I have appeared to doubt you 
for a moment. Please do not misunderstand me. I hesi- 
tated only because I doubted my right to give the informa- 
tion you desire. 

Leslie. And you will tell me what you know ? 

Bessie. Everything. 


PRO TEM 


51 


Leslie. Some one is coming. 

Bessie. Shall we adjourn to the garden? 

Leslie. Yes ; we can be alone there. 

Exeunt Leslie and Bessie, d. f. Enter Shepherd, r. d. 

Shepherd. Yes, I’m tired of it. {Sneeringly) “ Dr. Blank’s 
so kind, so thoughtful.” I have heard nothing else for three 
months. I don’t believe he could cure a ham. He has 
been of no benefit to any one in this house — unless to him- 
self. And his charges are tremendous ! But I am going to 
put an end to them. When I have finished arranging this 
little love-affair, I will tackle the doctor. It’s a good thing 
to have some sort of employment. I don’t believe match- 
making is my forte, but I have undertaken to steer this 
couple into the harbor of matrimony, and I am going to do 
it — unless some hidden rock should cause a wreck. ( Goes 
up r. c.) Now if Leslie had come this morning, I could 
at least have had some chance of bringing them to- 
gether, and — ( looks out of the window , R. f.) By Jingo! 
There they are. {Shaking his head) That doesn’t appear very 
lovelike. Why they are walking two feet apart, at least ! 
Perhaps it’s because they are afraid of being seen. Ah ! 
they will soon be in the shadow of that tree : then we shall 
see. Only a few more steps. Now ! {A slight pause) Well 
I’ll be hanged ! He acts as if he had never had any love- 
making experience. He appears to be arguing or giving 
her directions about something. Why in the deuce doesn’t 
he wait until he’s married. {Corning down stage) There 
seems to be something more necessary than just to bring 
them together. {Sits L. of table , r. c.) I will have to bring 
matters to a crisis in some way. ( Takes up ball of worsted 
from table , one end of the worsted is fastened to some fancy 
work) “ Some Cupid kills with arrows, some with traps.” 
It will have to be a trap in this case, and I must assist Cupid 
to set it. But what kind of a trap ? that’s the question. 
And what will be the most tempting bait ? {In anger . 
Throwing the ball of worsted across the table upon the floor) 
Confound Cupid ! I wish he would catch his own game. 
Now, why did I throw that ball on the floor ? That’s my 
ugly temper again. I suppose I will have to pick it up. 
{Rises) {Struck with an idea) By Jingo ! A splendid idea ! 
Yes ; I will make Leslie pick it up. It shall be a fish line 
baited at both ends, and the fishes that are to be caught 
shall fish for each other. Why, I am positively brilliant ! 
( Takes a piece of paper from the table and tears off a small 
scrap) This shall be the fly. ( Writes) “ Mr. Henry Leslie.” 


52 


PRO TEM 


I will place it under this fancy work — no ; on top will be 
better. ( Does so) So much for the female fish. Now for 
the male. ( Tears off another small piece of paper) What 
shall I tempt him with ? Ah ! I have it ! ( Writes) “ Mrs. 
Henry Leslie.” {Laughs) Ha — ha — ha. I will place it 
under the ball. {Places the ball on the floor about ten feet up 
R.) I think that’s about the right distance. They mustn’t 
be too near each other, for he will wish to say a good deal 
while he is winding. That’s a very fine trap, in my opinion. 
Cupid ought to be perfectly satisfied. {Sits L. of table , R. c.) 

E?iter Logan, l. d. 

Logan, go and tell Miss Bessie and Mr. Leslie that I — I 
think it’s too cold in the garden. 

Logan. Yes, sir. 

Shepherd. Tell them they will find it very pleasant in 
here. {Half aside) At least they ought to. 

Logan. Yes, sir. {Goes up c., sees ball of worsted on the 
floor up r., picks it 7ip and begins winding :) 

Shepherd, {thmking himself alone) She will sit here with 
her back to him — -just as I am. He will see the ball and 
naturally will think some one has dropped it. Then he will 
pick it up and begin to wind. Gradually he will approach 
the table and me — that is to say — Bessie. As he realizes 
that he is being drawn nearer and nearer, he will make 
haste. Finally as he gains the table, he will say — 

Logan. Beg pardon, sir, but I found this on the floor. 

Shepherd. {Rising— furiouslyi) What the deuce ! Drop 
that ball ! Drop it, I say ! {Logan drops the ball on the floor) 
Why didn’t you do what I told you ? 

Logan. I — I — thought, sir — 

Shepherd {internipting) You had no business to think. 
Go immediately ! Do you hear? 

Logan. Yes, sir. 

Shepherd. Then go ! 

Exit Logan, d. f., hurriedly. 

(Shepherd picks up ball.) The good-for-nothing fellow. 
He is entirely too attentive. Now, how shall I prevent this 
ball being picked up except by Leslie ? I don’t want to 
catch the wrong fish. I will put it nearer the table this 
time. {Places the ball on the floor R. of table. ) Now if any 
one should come — 

Enter Rachel, l. d. 

Rachel. Raymond, I wish to have a few minutes con- 
versation with 3^ou about — 


PRO TEM 


53 


Shepherd. ( interrupting ) Don’t you think we have 
talked enough upon that subject? 

Rachel. Decidedly not. 

Shepherd. Nonsense. You know T my opinion and I 
know yours — unless you’ve had sense enough to change it. 

Rachel. I still think that Mr. Leslie’s affections belong 
to me, and if he disputes my claim I shall appeal to 
justice. 

Shepherd. ( sarcastically ) And what represents justice ? 

Rachel. The law. 

Shepherd. You don’t mean that you will sue him? 

Rachel. Most certainly. 

Shepherd. Now look here, Rachel! Don’t be idiotic. 
You would have absolutely no case. 

Rachel. A Breach of Promise. 

Shepherd. Leslie made no promise ; he didn’t make a 
proposition even. 

Rachel. He embraced me. 

Shepherd. No ; you did the embracing. 

Rachel. It’s the same thing. 

Shepherd. Leslie wouldn’t think so. 

Rachel. If he had objected he shouldn’t have allowed it. 

Shepherd. He couldn’t prevent it. 

Rachel. I have witnesses — 

Shepherd. ( interrupting ) Yes ; I was one of them and 
just as soon as you bring any such ridiculous suit, I swear, 
that as an eye-witness, I will take great pleasure in testify- 
ing against you. 

Rachel. Well, if my own immediate family will not 
support me — 

Shepherd. ( interrupting ) They won’t, I assure you. 
Take my advice — give up this nonsense. Tell Leslie that 
you no longer need a secretary and — 

Rachel. ( interrupting ) What! Discharge him ! 

Shepherd. Yes, or he will discharge himself. 

Rachel. I must have a talk with him first. Dr. Blank 
advised me to — 

Shepherd. ( interrupting ) Hang Dr. Blank ! 

Rachel. ( reprovingly ) Raymond! 

Shepherd. Yes, I repeat it. 

Rachel. You speak very unfeelingly of your wife’s 
physician. 

Shepherd, (sneeringly) My wife’s physician ! What 
benefit has he ever been to her ? I believe she would have 
been entirely well long ago, if she had been left alone. 
C Furiously .) And she shall be left alone in future, too. 


54 


PRO TEM 


After to-day, Dr. Blank's services shall be dispensed with. 
I’ll be my wife’s physician, hereafter. 

Rachel. Why, Raymond ! what do mean ? 

Shepherd. Precisely what I have said. 

Rachel. You surely do not intend to dismiss the 
Doctor ? 

Shepherd. I do ; just as soon as I have an opportunity. 

Enter Mrs. S. and Blank, l. d. 

Blank. It’s just as I told you, my dear madam. You 
are very much stronger. Why, you can walk alone. ( To 
Shepherd) Good morning, Mr. Shepherd. I am so de- 
lighted to be able to report the progress your charming 
wife is making on the road to complete recovery. (Mrs. 
Shepherd sits l.) 

Enter Leslie and Bessie, d. f. Stop up c. 

Shepherd. I am very glad to hear it, indeed. 

Blank. As I have just informed Mrs. Shepherd, import- 
ant business necessitates my absence from town — 

Mrs. S. How can I do without you ? 

Shepherd. Oh ! you will soon become accustomed to it. 

Blank. I shall be absent but a few days. 

Leslie. ( aside to Bessie) I’ll wager he never returns. 

Rachel, {to Blank) We shall be so glad to welcome 
you home again. 

Shepherd. No, we won’t. 

Rachel. ( reprovingly ) Raymond! 

Shepherd. I — I — mean, Doctor, that since my wife 
seems to have regained her health and strength, I think 
she will not require your services in future. 

Mrs. S. Mr. Shepherd ! 

Blank. Eh! W — Why what do you mean! You 
surely can’t suspect — I — I mean you don’t think that I have 
been of no benefit to your wife ? I think you are acting 
very unwisely, sir. 

Shepherd. I think not. 

Blank. Your wife is but convalescent. Another physi- 
cian would not understand her case. She might experience 
a relapse that would prove serious. As her physician, I 
protest. 

Shepherd. As her husband, so do I. 

Blank, {aside) My plans are defeated. 

Mrs. S. {rising) Raymond, you seem to give me no 
choice in the matter. 

Shepherd. None whatever, my dear. You have had 


PRO TEM 


55 


your choice for three months past, now I am going to have 
mine. ( To Blank) Candidly, Doctor, I have not been at 
all satisfied with my wife’s treatment. 

Blank. Indeed ! (Aside) If that medicine is discovered 
my reputation will be ruined. 

Shepherd. It has been entirely too tedious and ex- 
pensive. 

Leslie, (aside to Bessie) Quick ! Bring the bottles of 
medicine from your aunt’s room. (Leslie and Bessie talk 
together in pantomime. ) 

Blank. Then you wish me to cease my visits after to- 
day. 

Shepherd. That was the meaning my words were in- 
tended to convey. 

Leslie, (aside to Bessie) If you meet him, don’t stop. 
Make haste ! 

Exit Bessie, l. d. 

Blank. Very good, sir. I shall leave immediately. I do 
not wish to remain where I am not wanted. (Aside) I must 
take the medicine with me. (To Shepherd) Oh! by the 
way, I left my — my case of instruments in Mrs. Shepherd’s 
room. I almost forgot it. 

Exit Blank, l. d. 

Mrs. S. (bursting into tears. To Shepherd) You unfeeling 
monster ! 

Shepherd. Come, come; you have done nothing but 
cry and call me names for months. I am heartily tired 
of it. 

Mrs. S. (crying) I shall retire to my room and — 

Shepherd. No, Blank is there, and there is no necessity 
for you to see him again. 

Mrs. S. Am I not the mistress of my own house ? 

Shepherd. Yes, but not the master. If you must cry, 
go into the drawing-room, and, Rachel, you had better 
accompany her. (Aside) Then the young couple will have 
an opportunity to test my trap. 

Exit Mrs. S,, r. d., crying. 

Rachel. I wish to have a few words with Mr. Leslie. 

Shepherd. Mr. Leslie is busy. 

Leslie. Yes, I’m busy. 

Shepherd, (seeing that Bessie has left the room) Hello! 
where is Bessie ? 

Leslie. She will return presently. 


56 


PRO TEM 


Shepherd, (to Rachel) Another time, Rachel, when Mr. 
Leslie has transacted his business. (Pushes her across the 
stage toward r. d.) 

Rachel. . You are a brute ! 

Shepherd. Am I? Well, you should be a judge. 

Rachel. You ought to be ashamed. 

Shepherd. I am. You should behave better. 

Exit Rachel, r. d. 

Shepherd, (aside) I will leave them to their fate. 

Exit Shepherd, r. d. 

Leslie. What if I have .made a great mistake and am 
accusing him wrongfully ? But, no, no ; I am right, I am 
sure of it. (Goes to door r. and locks it) There ! Puts key i?i 
his pocket) Now for the other door. (Hurries to door in f.) 

Enter Oscar and Lena, d. f. 

Oscar. Good-morning, Leslie, old chap. 

Leslie. ( nervously ) Good afternoon. (Aside) What in the 
deuce shall I do with them ! 

Lena. You appear excited about something, Mr. Leslie. 

Leslie. Yes, I — I am. 

Lena. Are you sick ? 

Leslie. Oh! no. 

Oscar. You’re not ill, are you ? 

Leslie. I — I am very busy ; you must excuse me. 

Oscar. Of course, old man ; but — 

Leslie. ( interrupting ) An important consultation with Dr. * 
Blank, you know, over the state of his health — I — I mean 
my health — both our healths. Sorry I can’t admit you — 

Oscar. But I say, you know — 

Leslie. Yes, I know ; but I think the Doctor would pre- 
fer it to be strictly private. 

Lena. Well, we will — 

Leslie. ( interrupting ) Must you go ? Well, call again. 

Oscar. We will wait in the garden. 

Leslie. Good. You will find the air delightful, I am 
sure. 


Exit Oscar and Lena, d. f. 

(Leslie locks the door and puis the key in his Pocket) 

Why doesn’t Miss Martin return ? If I could compel the 
Doctor to confess, or if — (Struck with a sudde?i idea) By 
Jove ! A brilliant idea ! 


PRO TEM 


57 


Enter Bessie, l. d. 

{Eagerly) Have you the bottles ? 

Bessie. Yes. ( Gives him the bottles .) 

Leslie’ Good. I am going to try to frighten the Doctor 
into a confession. 

Bessie. I will leave you alone with him. 

Leslie. No, no ; I wish you to be a witness. But — but 
it will not be best for him to know that you are present. 
Suppose you hide behind that screen. He will return pres- 
ently. 

(Bessie hides behind the screen , l.) 

{Examining bottles) My hopes are realized. Mrs. Shep- 
herd has not yet taken any of this medicine. {Taking the 
cork from one of the bottles and pouring some of the contents 
upon the floor) I will make the Doctor imagine that she 
has taken a tablespoonful of this solution of arsenic by mis- 
take. {Puts the bottles upon the mantel over the fireplace , l.) 
It is time the Doctor was returning. I must be occupied at 
something. {Looks around) PAP. I know. I’ll be reading. 
{Sits -up, l. Takes newspaper from his pocket .) 

Enter Blank, l. d., hastily . 

(Leslie pretends to be reading — holding the paper upside 
dow?i — and watches Blank.) 

Blank, {not perceiving Leslie. Aside) There is.no time 
to be lost. The medicine can’t be found. I can catch the 
next train for the north and be hundreds of miles from here 
in a few hours. {Goes to door in flat— finds it locked) By 
Heaven ! What does this mean ? 

Leslie, {yawning) Why, Doctor, is that you ? 

Blank. Where’s the key to this door ? 

Leslie, {sleepily) By Jove ! but I am sleepy. 

Blank, {angrily) Why don’t you answer me? Who 
locked it? 

Leslie. Locked what ? 

Blank. Don’t you see that I wish to go out ? 

Leslie. . Well, why don’t you ? Oh ! by — the — way, 
have you seen Miss Martin ? I believe she desires to speak 
to you. 

Blank. Yes, I saw her. 

Leslie. Did you ? 

Blank. I passed her just now. She didn’t appear to 
have anything to say. 


PRO TEM 


53 


Leslie. Didn’t she though ? That’s strange too. No 
doubt she was in haste to bring her aunt’s medicine. 

Blank. ( anxiously ) Has — has Mrs. Shepherd taken a 
dose ? 

Leslie. ( carelessly ) About a tablespoonful, I should 
judge. 

Blank. Eh ! A tablespoonful ! Oh ! you refer to the 
bromide solution. What did she do with it ? 

Leslie. Swallowed it, I imagine. 

Blank. I mean where did she put the bottle ? I’m tired 
of this bantering. 

Leslie, (rises and goes to mantel. Takes the bottle from 
which he has poured a table spoonj ul of the medicine and gives 
it to Blank) Is that the bottle you wish ? 

Blank, (takmg the bottle — agitated ) What ! She — she — 
didn’t take a dose from this ? 

Leslie. A tablespoonful. 

Blank, (greatly excited ) By Heaven ! She’s poisoned. 

Leslie. Poisoned ! (Bessie comes from behi?id the 
screen .) 

Blank, (agitated ) I did not intend to do her any harm. 
It was only to weaken her. 

Leslie, (to Bessie) Miss Martin, you have heard Dr. 
Blank’s confession. 

Blank. I swear I meant no harm. But it is not too late. 
Pier life can be saved. 

Leslie. There is no necessity to worry yourself, Doctor, 
over the state of Mrs. Shepherd’s health. She has not been 
poisoned. 

Blank. Eh ! (A slight pause') Y — you have tricked me 
into a*confession ? 

Leslie. It seems so. 

Blank, (passionately) Curse you ! (A pause) Well, now 
that you have enjoyed yourself at my expense — if you will 
unlock the door — 

Leslie. Oh ! don’t be in a hurry. It’s true, your schemes 
have been discovered, but that does not make you innocent. 
But my duty ends — your fate is now in the hands of Miss 
Martin. (A pause) 

Bessie. Dr. Blank, I did not know, when you asked me 
to be your wife — 

Leslie, (aside) The villain ! 

Bessie, (continuing) I did not know the character of the 
man whom I thought was honoring me. Had I known, I 
would not have listened to you a moment. Although — as 
I told you — I could never care for you, I respected you ; I 


PRO TEM 


59 


thought you an honorable man. I believe my Aunt trusted 
you more than she trusted any one else in this world, 
and knowing that this was so, you took advantage of her 
confidence. You have greatly wronged both of us and yet 
— I cannot believe that you are wholly bad. We are all 
weak. Perhaps you were sorely tempted in what might be 
no temptation to me. It is not for me to judge you ; that 
right belongs to Heaven. 

Bessie, {to Leslie) Mr. Leslie, will you please unlock the 
doors ? 

Leslie. Unlock them ! 

Bessie. Yes. (Leslie hesitates ; then unlocks both doors.) 
There Doctor — you are free. 

Blank. Free! 

Bessie. Yes, to go where you please. But I beg of you, 
go with the determination to lead an upright life ; to be a 
true man. A physician has so many opportunities to do 
good ; he, of all others, should fight against the wrong. (. A 
pause.) 

Blank, {earnestly) Miss Martin, I — I did not realize 
before what an injury I had done you. Can you — can you 
forgive me ? 

Bessie. I will try. {Holds out her hand.) 

Leslie, {stepping between them) No — Miss Martin. 

Bessie. Yes, I will give him my hand. I wish my 
actions to prove that I mean my words. {She extends her 
hand again) 

Blank, {after hesitating) No ; Leslie is right. I cannot 
take your hand. I do not deserve it. But I believe that 
you will forgive me. Some day, perhaps, I shall be able to 
prove to you that your forgiveness has made a true man 
of me ; at least, I wili try. 

Exit Blank, d. f. 

Leslie. Miss Martin, you are an angel ! 

Bessie. Oh ! no — only a very, very poor imitation. {Sits 
l. of table down r. c. Leslie approaches table , r.; sees the 
ball of worsted on the floor — picks it up — discovers the paper 
under it and reads it. Bessie sees the paper on the fa?icy 
work — carelessly takes it up and reads it. They look at each 
other — then quickly look away , embarrassed) 

Leslie, {reading from paper , aside) “ Mrs. Henry Leslie.” 
{Looks at Bessie — hesitates a moment ; then winds the ball 
slowly) Miss Martin — (stops winding) 

Bessie. Yes. 

Leslie. There is something I — I wish to say to you and 


6o 


PRO TEM 


yet, scarcely know the best way. I am not sure how you 
will receive it. ( A slight, paused) I — I want to — to thank 
you for all your kindness toward me — 

Bessie. You have nothing to thank me for, Mr. Leslie. 

Leslie. Oh ! yes, I have ; much, very much. ( Winds 
ball.) Ever since I first met you, I have felt that life was 
something more than what I had been accustomed to think 
it. You have given me the desire to try to make myself 
of some use in the world. ( Slops winding.) 

Bessie. You can succeed if you will have the deter- 
mination, Mr. Leslie. “ No consistent effort is ever lost. 
And in doing the best you can with yourself, you make the 
world better.” 

Leslie, {aside) I wish I knew if she cares for me. {To 
Bessie) Miss Martin, I want your advice. 

Bessie. I shall be glad to give it. 

Leslie. Suppose you -you were in love. 

Bessie. /, in love ! 

Leslie, {quickly) Oh ! it was only a supposition, you 
know. I — I mean, suppose you were a man and you 
loved a girl — and wished to know if she cared for you — 
what would you do ? 

Bessie. I — I think I would ask her. 

Leslie. Yes ; but if she didn’t care for you ? 

Bessie. How are you going to tell unless you ask her ? 

Leslie. That’s just what I want to know. 

Bessie. I don’t know of any other way. She, in turn, 
might wonder if the man cared for her. 

Leslie, {quickly) Oh ! there’s no doubt of my love for 
her — I — I mean your love for her. 

Bessie. How is she to know that? 

Leslie. My actions — that is,' your actions prove that. 

Bessie. {iisi?ig) Mr. Leslie, I — 

Leslie. I — I. mean your actions toward the girl. You 
are representing a man, you know. 

Bessie, {sitting) {half aside) I forgot. {A slight pause.) 
But suppose the girl wished some stronger proof than 
actions ? 

Leslie. What would you advise ? 

Bessie. I — I hardly know. Perhaps you — I mean the 
man, ought to tell her. 

Leslie. But if she already knows of his love ? 

Bessie. But she might value a repetition. 

Leslie, {aside) By Jove! I’ll do it. {Winds ball hastily’) 
{To Bessie) Miss Martin, I’ll take your advice. Yesterday, 
you witnessed a scene that was embarrassing to me in the 


PRO TEM 


6l 


extreme. You saw me in the arms of your Aunt, Miss 
Shepherd — 

Bessie. ( interrupting ) I think I understand the mistake, 
Mr. Leslie. 

Leslie. And you do not blame me ? 

Bessie. Not at all. 

Leslie. Thank you. I assure you that I am innocent 
of any tender feelings — in your Aunt’s direction. She came 
in the room and overheard me speaking of — of some one 
else. 

Bessie. Some one else ! 

Leslie. Yes, of — some one else. ( Winding ) Someone 
— between whom and me there is a strong cord, binding 
me to her. Unconsciously she has wound around me the 
spell of her fascination. ( Advancing ) And as she winds she 
draws me nearer and nearer, until I am at her side. (. Places 
the ball on the table and goes behind Bessie’s chair.) {Earn- 
estly) Miss Martin, you know who that “ some one ” is. 
You know that I love her with all my heart. ( Leaning over 
her chair and taking her hand) Does she love me ? 

Bessie. And if she loves you ? 

Leslie. Then I want her to prove it by giving what I 
wish for most in this world — herself. Will she ? 

(Bessie makes a sign of acceptance. They embrace) 

Enter Shepherd, r. d. 

Shepherd, .{seeing then i) {aside) Ah ! I am going to have 
my trap patented. {To Leslie and Bessie) Bless you, my 
children ! (Leslie and Bessie start) 

Leslie, {embarrassed) Oh ! is that you ?. You see — 

Shepherd. Yes, I see. No explanations are necessary. 
You both have my deepest sympathy. 

Enter Oscar and Lena, d. f. 

Lena. Can we come in now ? 

Shepherd. Certainly. Why shouldn’t you ? 

Lena. Mr. Leslie was having a consultation with the 
Doctor. 

Oscar. Which was the sick one, Leslie, you or the 
Doctor? You seemed to be uncertain. 

Leslie. Dr. Blank feels very badly at present, I think. 

Enter Rachel and Mrs. S., r. d. 

Rachel. Mr. Leslie, I had intended dismissing you from 
my employ, but — 

Leslie. ( interrupting ) I will save, you the trouble, Miss 


62 


PRO TEM 


Shepherd. I hereby tender my resignation as your secre- 
tary, having entered into an engagement which will employ 
me for the balance of my life. 

Shepherd. Going to be a family secretary, eh ? 

Leslie. ( turning toward Bessie) Yes, no longer Pro 
Tern, but in the employ of my wife forever. 


CURTAIN 


Rachel and Mrs. S. 


Oscar and Lena. 


Shepherd. 


Leslie a?id Bessie, 



Shoemaker’s Best Selections, No. 1 


Compiled by J. W. SHOEMAKER, A. M. 

Late President, and founder of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 
200 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 

In addition to its value as a book of recitations this is an -exceedingly 
good number for school use owing to the great variety of pieces suitable 
for reading classes. The following pieces are among some of the most 
valuable ones. 


Abraham Lincoln, extract from a eulogy 
on the martyred president, by Henry 
Ward Beecher. 

Annie and Willie’s Prayer, an excellent 
Christmas piece. 

Betsy and I are Out, by Will Carleton. 

The Blue and the Gray, for Decoration 
Day. The ever popular class poem. 

The Boys, by Oliver Wendell Holmes. 

The Bridge, by Longfellow. 

The Charcoal Man, affording excellent 
opportunities for vocal gymnastics. 

The Child Wife, humorous, from David 
Copperfield. 

The Creeds of the Bells, containing 
splendid opportunities for vocal 
display. 

Crossing the Carry, humorous, by the 
popular author, “ Adirondack ’ ’ 
Murray. 

Death of Little Joe, and 

Death of Little Nell, both pathetic and 
both from Charles Dickens. 

Der Coming Man, Gerrpan Dialect, .by 
Chas. Follen Adams. 

The Dying Christian, excellent for 
Sunda y-s c h o o 1 entertainments, by 
Alexander Pope. 

Evening at the Farm, a beautiful 
pastoral poem, by J. T. Trowbridge. 

Experience with European Guides, 

humorous, by Mark Twain. 

Independence Bell, for Fourth of July 
occasions. 

The Irish School Master, a capital 
Irish Dialect piece. 

John Maynard, thrilligg and heroic. 

Launch of the Ship, by Henry W. Long- 
fellow, excellent for vocal training. 

Memory of Washington, for Washing- 
ton’s Birthday, by Edward Everett. 

The Modern Cain, a strong temperance 
recitation. 


Nobody’s Child, exceedingly pathetic. 
The Old Yankee Farmer, Yankee Dia- 
lect. 

Palmerston and Lincoln, a strong piece 
of historical literature, by George Ban- 
croft. 

Patrick Dolin’s Love Letter, Irish 

Courting. 

Pat’s Excelsior, Irish parody on the 
original poem. 

A Piece of Bunting, 

The Relief of Lucknow, and The Rev- 
olutionary Rising, strong patriotic 
selections. 

Scrooge and Marley, a most interesting 
extract from Dickens’ Christmas 
Carol. 

The Smack in School, very amusing. 

Spartacus to the Gladiators, popular 

with every school boy. 

Uncle Pete’s Counsel to the Newly 
Married, Darkey Dialect. 

Why He Wouldn’t Sell the Farm, 
pathetic and patriotic. 

William Tell, thrilling and patriotic. 
Will the New Year Come To-night, 
Mamma? pathetic. 

The Following Gems from 
Tennyson : 

Break, Break, Break. 

Bugle Song. 

The dramatic Charge of the Light 
Brigade. 

Lullaby. 

The Old Year and the New, for New 
Year’s. And 

The Following Shakespearean 
Extracts : 

Hamlet’s Instructions to the Players. 
The Ghost Scene. 

Othello’s Apology. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections No. 2 


Compiled by J. W. SHOEMAKER, A. M. 

Late President, and founder of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 
200 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents Paper, 30 cents 

This too, is a good number for use in reading classes. Among the 
many excellent pieces may be mentioned the following: 


Abigail Becker, a thrilling description 
of a rescue at sea. 

Andrew Jackson, a eulogy, and excel- 
lent for reading classes, by George 
Lippard. 

Arnold Winkelreid, a dramatic incident 
in the history of Switzerland. 

The Barn Window, good for reading 
classes, by Lucy Larcom. 

The Bells of Shandon, excellent for 
vocal culture. 

The Blacksmith’s Story, a thrilling 
incident as a result of the War of the 
Rebellion. 

Black Ranald, a dramatic recitation by 
Phoebe Cary. 

Buck Fanshaw’s Funeral, exceedingly 
humorous, by Mark Twain. 

A Christmas Carol, a pleasing little 
Christmas poem. 

Darius Green and His Flying Machine, 
humorous, byj. T. Trowbridge. 

Dowe’s Flat, 1856, a story of the early 
days of California, by F. Bret Harte. 

A Dutchman’s Speech at an Institute, 
German Dialect. 

Eva’s Death, pathetic, from Uncle 
Tom’s Cabin, by Harriet Beecher 
Stowe. 

Excelsior, a world-wide popular poem, 
by Henry W. Longfellow. 

The Ghosts, extract from Hiawatha, by 
H. W. Longfellow. 

Hezekiah Bedott, an extract from the 
famous Bedott Papers. 

How Mr. Coville Counted the Shingles 
on His House, by the Danbury News 
Man. Humorous. 

Kentucky Philosophy, sometimes 
known as the “ Watermillion Story,” 
Darky Dialect and very popular. 

Liberty and Union, the celebrated 
speech of Daniel Webster. 

Lochinvar’s Ride, always popular, by 
Sir Walter Scott. 

.♦lark Twain and the Interviewer, 
humorous. 

The May Queen, Conclusion, pathetic, 
by Alfred Tennyson. 

Miss Maloney on the Chinese Question, 
Irish humor, by Mary Mapes Dodge. 

The Minute Men of ’75, a beautiful 
patriotic address, by George William 
Curtis. 


Mr. Coville on Danbury, humorous, by 
the Danbury News Man. 

The Nature of True Eloquence, excel- 
lent for declamation, by Daniel Web- 
ster. 

The New Church Organ, spinster char- 
acterization, by Will Carleton. 

A New Year’s Address, a strong prose 
selection for New Year’s occasions, 
by Dr. Edward Brooks, A. M. 

North American Indians, excellent for 
declamation. 

The Old Man in the Model Church, 

pathetic and excellent for old man 
characterization. 

The Old Clock on the Stairs, containing 
fine opportunities for voice culture, 
by Henry W. Longfellow. 

Oratory and the Press, good for decla- 
mation, by Daniel Dougherty. 

Over the Hill to the Poorhouse,' pathetic, 
good opportunities for old woman 
characterization, by Will Carleton. 

The Polish Boy, exceedingly dramatic. 

The Puzzled Dutchman, German Dia- 
lect. 

The Red Jacket, dramatic description 
of a fire scene. 

Rum’s Maniac, dramatic; excellent 
temperance selection. 

Schnieder Sees Leah, a German’s ver- 
sion of a scene from Leah the For- 
saken, very popular. 

Sixty-Four and Sixty-Five, a good 
piece for G. A. R. entertainments. 

Socrates Snooks, the humorous experi- 
ence of a henpecked husband. 

The Soldier’s Reprieve, a beautiful 
story in connection with the adminis- 
tration of President Lincoln. 

The Spanish Armada, an historic poem 
cf great dramatic opportunities, by 
T. B. Macaulay. 

Washington as a Civilian, for Washing- 
ton’s Birthday. 

The Yarn of the Nancy Bell, humorous, 
a sailor’s stor>*, and 

The Following Shakespearean 
Extracts : 

Cassius Against Caesar. 

Hamlet’s Soliloquy. 

Wolsey’s Fall. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections, No. 3 


Compile^ by J. W. SHOEMAKER, A. M. 

Late President, and founder of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 
200 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 

Many good teaching pieces will be found in this number, also. The 
following are some of the most popular selections : 


Adoon the Lane, a delicious bit of 
Scotch Dialect. 

The American Flag, a fine patriotic 
piece, by Joseph Rodman Drake. 

The Baby’s First Tooth, humorous, 
by the Danbury News Man. 

Bardell and Pickwick, the famous trial 
scene, by Charles Dickens. 

The Baron’s Last Banquet, dramatic. 

The Battle of Beal an’ Duine, a strong 
war poem of Scotland, by Sir Walter 
Scott. 

The Burning Ship, a dramatic descrip- 
tion of a ship on fire. 

Claudius and Cynthia, a popular 
dramatic selection, scene in Rome. 

The Closing Year, for New Year's, by 
George D. Prentice. 

The Dutchman’s Serenade, German 
Dialect. 

The Eagle’s Rock, very dramatic. 

The Famine, from Hiawatha, by Henry 
W Longfellow. 

A Florentine Letter, highly dramatic, 
by Susan Coolidge. 

From Exile, dramatic. 

The Gladiator, very dramatic, scene in 
Rome. 

Good-night, Papa, a beautiful temper- 
ance recitation. 

The Haunted House, a dramatic 
description, by Hood. 

The Hypochondriac, humorous. 

If I Should Die To-night, spiritual, 
and suited for Sunday-schools. 

The Indian Chief to the White Settler, 
a popular declamation, by Edward 
Everett. 

Jack and Jill, light humor. 

Kit Carson’s Ride, a stirring incident 
of life on the prairie, by Joaquin 
Miller. 

The Kitchen Clock, exceedingly popu- 
lar. by John Vance Cheney. 

Laughin’ in Meeting, humorous, by 
Harriet Beecher Stowe. 

Licensed to Sell; or, Little Elossom, 
temperance. 


Lides to Bary Jade, humorous descrip- 
tion of a man with a cold in his head. 

Little Golden Hair, child characteriza- 
tion. 

Maud Muller, always popular, by John 
G. Whittier. 

The Monster Cannon, a dramatic 
description, by Victor Hugo. 

National Monument to Washington, 
for Washington’s Birthday. 

Ode on the Passions, a superior teach- 
ing piece, especially for voice culture, 
by Collins. 

The Painter of Seville, strong and 
popular. 

Parrhassius and the Captive, very 
dramatic, by N. P. Willis. 

Passing Away, familiar, but good. 

Poor Little Jim, a pathetic story of the 
mines. 

The Power of Habit, a striking tem- 
perance selection, by John B. Gough. 

The Promise, spiritual, good for Sun- 
day-schools. 

Reaching the Early Train, humorous, 
by Max Adler. 

Reply to Mr. Corry, forensic oratory, 
good for teaching, by H. Grattan. 

Rock of Ages, very pretty, contains 
singing parts. 

The Senator’s Dilemma, humorous, by 
James De Mille 

The Seven Ages of Man, from Shakes- 
peare. 

Signs and Omens, German Dialect. 

Tell on His Native Hills, patriotic, a 
good teaching piece. 

The Three Fishers, tender and pathetic, 
by Charles Kingsley. 

Tom Sawyer’s Love Affair, humorous, 
by Mark Twain. 

The Two Glasses, temperance, by Ella 
Wheeler Wilcox. 

The Vagabonds, pathetic, dramatic, 
and a good temperance piece, always 
acceptable, by J. T. Trowbridge. 

Woman, a pleasing tribute to her sex, 
by Tennyson. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections No. 4 


Compiled by J. W. SHOEMAKER, A. M. 

Late President, and founder of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 
200 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 


This issue is characterized by the great number of patriotic pieces 
which it contains. In addition to this feature the following selections may 
also be mentioned : 


A Man’s a Man for a’ That, a popular 
Scotch Dialect poem, by Robert Burns. 

The Angels of Buena Vista, a very dra- 
matic battle scene, by John G. Whit- 
tier. 

The Annuity, humorous, Scotch Dia- 
lect. 

Aunt Kindly, a good teaching piece on 
the conversational order, by Theo. 
Parker. 

Ye Baggage Smasher, humorous. 

The Battle of Bunker Hill, strong pa- 
triotic poem. 

Battle Hymn of the Republic, stirring 
patriotic poem, by Julia Ward Howe. 

The Black Horse and His Rider, a fine 
prose patriotic declamation, by 
Charles Sheppard. 

The Burning Prairie, a dramatic recita- 
tion, by Alice Carey. 

The Cause of Temperance, a strong 
temperance piece, by John B. Gough. 

Centennial Oration, a fine declamation, 
and also excellent for teaching pur- 
poses, by Henry Armilt Brown. 

The Christmas Sheaf, a Norwegian 
Christmas story. 

Columbia, patriotic. 

Curfew Must Not Ring To-Night, 
familiar, but a very popular recita- 
tion, by Rose Hartwick Thorpe. 

Deacon Munroe’s Story, humorous 
characterization. * 

The Declaration of Independence, very 
convenient for Fourth of July occa- 
sions, as well as for reference pur- 
poses. 

Dora, a dramatic descriptive characteri- 
zation. by Tennyson. 

Dot Lambs Wot Mary Haf Got, a 
parody on the original poem in Ger- 
man Dialect. 


The Fire, a dramatic description. 

The Gambler’s Wife, pathetic and dra- 
matic. 

The Ghost, sometimes known as “Abel 
Law’s Ghost,” quaint Yankee 
humor. 

Grandmother’s Story, an old woman’s 
story of the Battle of Bunker Hill. 

The Great Beef Contract, exceedingly 
humorous, by Mark Twain. 

How a Married Man Sews on a Button, 
humorous, by The Danbury New'S 
Man. 

Judge Pitman on Various Kinds of 
Weather, humorous, by Max Adler. 

Kentucky Belle, a popular poem, de- 
scribing an incident of the Civil 
War, by Constance Fenimore Wool- 
son. 

Leap Year Wooing, humorous, by David 
Macrae. 

A Negro Prayer, Darkey Dialect. 

No God, a strong moral selection. 

Ode to the Deity, a fine oratorical selec- 
tion, excellent for voice culture. 

Ode to the Legislature, a satirical poem, 
by John G Saxe. 

Paul Revere’s Ride, familiar, butalways 
acceptable, by Henry W. Longfellow'. 

The Rationalistic Chicken, humorous. 

The Raven, old but still given by some 
of the best readers 

Rienzi’s Address, stirring declamation 

Tommy Taft, good for temperance oc- 
casions. 

Tribute to Washington, for Washing- 
ton’s Birthday. 

The Union, a patriotic poem 

Clarence’s Dream and Mark Antony 
Scene, Shakespearean Extracts. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections No. 5 


Compiled by J. W. SHOEMAKER, A. M. 

Late President, and founder of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 
200 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 


Among the most popular recitations in this number are the 
following : 


The Ager, a humorous description of a 
sufferer with chills and fever. 

Archie Dean, a selection of the coquet- 
tish order, by Gail Hamilton. 

Bannock-Burn, a stirring bit of Scotch 
poetry, by Robert Burns. 

The Bride of the Greek Isle, a dramatic 
recitation, by Mrs. Hemans. 

The Brook, a popular poem, by Tenny- 
son. 

Budge’s Version of the Flood, child 
characterization, very amusing, by 
John Habberton. 

Catiline’s Defiance, familiar but always 
a popular declamation. 

Course of Love Too Smooth, the amus- 
ing experience of a pair of lovers on 
a slippery night. 

Dedication of Gettysburg Cemetery, 

the celebrated speech of Abraham 
Lincoln. 

Elder Mr. Weller’s Sentiments on 
Literary Composition, from Pickwick 
Papers, by Charles Dickens. 

Fashionable Singing, a humorous re- 
presentation of fashionable singers. 

The Flood of Years, a strong oratorical 
selection, excellent for teaching, by 
William Cullen Bryant. 

Good Reading, an extract from an ex- 
cellent address on the subject of pub- 
lic reading, by John S. Hart, 

Hans and Fritz, German Dialect. 

He Giveth His Beloved Sleep, a beauti- 
ful spiritual poem, by Mrs. Browning. 

Heroes of the Land of Penn, patriotic, 
having especial reference to the early 
settlers of Pennsylvania, by George 
Lippard. 

Hotv We Hunted a Mouse, humorous. 

John and Tibbie’s Dispute, Scotch 
humor. 

The Last Hymn, describing a wreck at 
sea, pathetic and dramatic, part to be 
sung. 


The Leak in the Dyke, a dramatic reci- 
tation by Phoebe Cary. 

Lost and Found, a pathetic story of the 
Welsh Mines. 

Magdalena ; or, the Spanish Duel, 
humorous and popular, the incident 
is laid in Spain. 

The Maiden Martyr, very pathetic. 

Membraneous Croup and the McWil- 
liamses, humorous, by Mark Twain. 

Moral Effect of Intemperance, a strong . 
temperance piece, by Henry Ward 
Beecher. 

My Trundle-Bed, pathetic recollections 
of a mother’s teachings. 

Old Ironsides, a patriotic tribute to the 
old frigate, “ Constitution,” by O. W. 
Holmes. 

Over the Hills and Far Away, a beauti- 
ful bit of pathos, by Miss Mulock. 

The Prisoner of Chillon, a very dra- 
matic selection, by Byron. 

The Puritans, a strong prose descrip- 
tion of our forefathers, by T. B. 
Macaulay. 

Samantha Smith Becomes Josiah 
Allen’s Wife, humorous, by Josiah 
Allen’s Wife. 

The Schoolmaster’s Guests, a humor- 
ous characterization, by Will Carle- 
ton. 

The Swell’s Soliloquy, impersonation 
of a dude. 

Swallowing a Fly, a bit of prose, 
characteristic of the author, T. De 
Witt Talmage. 

Tramp, Tramp, Tramp, a stirring tem- 
perance piece, by J. G. Holland. 

Uncle Daniel’s Introduction to a Mis- 
sissippi Steamer, one of the best 
negro dialect pieces ever written, by 
Clemens and Warner. 

Why Biddie and Pat Married, an amus- 
ing Irish dialect recitation. 

Man’s Ingratitude, and 

Prince Henry and Falstaff, Shake- 
spearean extracts. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections, No. 6 


Compiled by J. W. SHOEMAKER, A. M. 

Late President, and founder of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 
200 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 

The following may be mentioned as among some of the most effec- 
tive recitations : 


Artemus Ward’s London Lecture, one 

of the best humorous pieces ever 
written. 

Asleep at the Switch, a thrilling inci- 
dent in the experience of a switch 
tender. 

The Battle of Ivry, a standard dra- 
matic recitation by T. B. Macaulay. 

The Bridge of Sighs, a popular pathetic 
poem, by Thomas Hood. 

Brother Anderson’s Sermon, a superior 
negro dialect recitation, by Thomas 
K. Beecher. 

The Children’s Hour, a poetic descrip- 
tion of the author’s children, Henry 
W. Longfellow. 

A Day at Niagara, a humorous descrip- 
tion of a visit to Niagara Falls, by 
Mark Twain. 

The Deserted House, a beautiful de- 
scription of life and death, by Tenny- 
son. 

Doctor Marigold, sometimes known as 
the cheap Jack, excellent opportuni- 
ties for characterization, by Charles 
Dickens. 

The Dukite Snake, an Australian bush- 
man’s story, extremely dramatic, by 
J. Boyle O’Reilly. 

Easter Morning, a pleasing Easter 
poem. 

Eve and the Serpent, a Frenchman’s 
idea of the fall of man, humorous. 

Extract from the Last Days of Hercu- 
laneum, a fine dramatic description. 

Father Phil’s Collection, this is one of 
the best Irish dialect recitations, and 
is given by some of the most promi- 
nent readers. 

Getting Under Way, an amusing de- 
scription of sea-sickness, by Mark 
Twain. 

The Green Mountain Justice, humor- 
ous. 

Jane Conquest, the incident is that of a 
wreck at sea, very dramatic. 


The Little Hatchet Story, one of the 

most popular humorous recitations in 
print. It is a description of the inci- 
dent of George Washington and the 
cherry tree. 

Miss Edith Helps Things Along, a 

humorous characterization of a pert 
child, by Bret Harte. 

Nae Luck Aboot the House, a pleasing 
Scotch poem. * 

The Old Sergeant, a pathetic story of 
the Civil War. 

The Palmetto and the Pine, a figura- 
tive description of the North and 
South. 

Relentless Time, excellent for teaching, 
by Henry W. Longfellow. 

The Ride of Jennie McNeal, a story of 

colonial days, by Will Carleton. 

Robert of Lincoln, introducing bird 
songs, by William Cullen Bryant. 

Satan and the Grog Seller, a fine tem- 
perance piece. 

School Called, a pleasing poem illus- 
trative of school life. 

Song in the Night, an amusing sleep- 
ing-car incident introducing snoring. 

St. John, the Aged, a beautiful spirit- 
ual poem. 

Thanatopsis, always popular, excel- 
lent for teaching, by William Cullen 
Bryant. 

A Thanksgiving, a pleasing poem for 
Thanksgiving, by Lucy Larcom. 

Tom, a story of how a dog saves the 
life of a child in a fire, by Constance 
Fenimore Woolson. 

Valley Forge, a fine oratorical selection, 
good for teaching, by Henry Armitt 
Brown. 

Zekle, Yankee courting, by James Rus- 
sell Lowell. 

The Dagger Scene, and 

From the Tragedy of King John, 

Shakespearean Extracts. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections No. 7 


Compiled by J. W. SHOEMAKER, A. M. 

Late President, and founder of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 
200 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 


While it is the aim to make one number as good as another, this issue 
has always been one of the most popular of the series. Following are 
some of the most attractive selections : 


The Death of the Old Year, appropriate 
for New Year’s, by Tennyson. 

The American War, a fine forensic se- 
lection, by Lord Chatham. 

A Royal Princess, a strong dramatic 
recitation, by Christina Rossetti. 

Sister and I, pathetic and extremely 
popular. * 

The Death of Nelson, a good teaching 
piece, by Robert Southey. 

The Night Before Christmas, always 
popular for Christmas entertainments. 

The Night After Christmas, a humorous 
sequel 10 the foregoing selection. 

A Parody, being a parody on Cassabi- 
anca ; or, The Boy Stood on the Burn- 
ing Deck. 

The Crescent and the Cioss, a beautiful 
contrast between Christianity and 
Mohammedism, by T. B. Aldrich. 

Reflections on Westminster Abbey, ex- 
cellent literature, good for teaching, 
by Washington Irving. 

Our Traveled Parson, humorous, by 
Will Carleton. 

Daisy’s Faith, popular child charac- 
terization. 

How Tom Sawyer Whitewashed His 
Fence, humorous, by Mark Twain. 

Cuddle Doon, a pleasing bit of Scotch 
Dialect. 

The Death of the Owd ’Squire, a fine 
dramatic piece. Scene in Yorkshire. 

Mine Katrine, German Dialect, by 
Charles Follen Adams. 

The Voice in the Twilight, good for 
Sunday-schools, by Mrs. Herrick 
Johnson. 

The Ship of Faith , an exceedingly good 
Negro Dialect piece. 

Mount Blanc Before Sunrise, a beauti- 
ful oratorical poem, good for teaching, 
by S. T. Coleridge. 


Surly Tim’s Trouble, a pathetic and 

very popular piece ; used by the best 
readers ; Lancashire Dialect. 

The Village Blacksmith, always popu- 
lar, by Henry W. Longfellow. 

Tom’s Little Star, a humorous poem, 
describing the experience of a stage- 
struck woman. 

Marco Bozzaris, old but good, an excel- 
lent teaching piece, by Fitz-Greene 
Halleck. 

Fair Play for Women, an appeal for the 
rights of woman, by George William 
Curtis. 

Masters of the Situation, a superior 
teaching selection, by James T. Fields. 

Lighthouse May, an excellent selection, 
showing the heroism of a lighthouse 
keeper. 

A Model Discourse, humorous, some- 
times known as the Old Mother Hub- 
bard Sermon. 

The South Wind, a pleasing descrip- 
tion, good teaching piece, by Henry 
W. Longfellow. 

The Wounded Soldier, pathetic ; the in- 
cident is that of a dying soldier. Very 
popular. 

The Owl-Critic, very clever humor, by 
James T. Fields. 

The Leper, a strong dramatic recitation, 
by N. P. Willis. 

That Hired Girl, humorous. 

Old Robin, how a horse saves his master 
from moral ruin, by J. T. Trowbridge. 

Hannah Binding Shoes, a beautiful and 
pathetic poem, by Lucy Larcom. 

The Gray Honors the Blue, good for 
Decoration Day, by Henry H. Wat- 
terson. 

Paradise, an excellent encore piece. 

Widow Brown’s Christmas, a pleasing 
Christmas story. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections, No. 8 


Compiled by Mrs. J. W. SHOEMAKER 

Vice-President of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 
300 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 

From the many good pieces in this number the following may be mert 


tioned : 

After Death, a beautiful spiritual poem, 
by Edwin Arnold. 

Reckoning With the Old Year, for New 

Yeai’s. 

The Defense of Lucknow, a patriotic 
recitation by Tennyson. 

Nations and Humanity, oratorical, by 
George William Curtis. 

The Emigrant’s Story, the main inci- 
dent is that of a storm on the prairie, 
very popular, by J. T. Trowbridge. 

Mrs. McWilliams and the Lightning, 
humorous, by Mark Twain. 

A Christmas Carol, a magnificent poem ; 
parts to be chanted, by Father Ryan. 

The Song of Steam, good for teaching. 

Setting a Hen, German Dialect, some- 
times known as Sockery Setting a 
Hen. 

The Everlasting Memorial, good for 
Sunday-school entertainments, by Ho- 
ratius Bonar. 

Scene from Leah, the Forsaken, gen- 
erally known as the Curse Scene. 

Grandma Al’as Does, child characteri- 
zation. 

Nebuchadnezzer, Negro Dialect. 

The Temperance Question, an excellent 
temperance piece, by Wendell Phil- 
lips. 

Better in the Morning, very pathetic. 

Philosophy of Laughter, a laughing 
piece. 

Bay Billy, an incident of the Civil War, 
good for Decoration Day. 

The King’s Missive, 1661, a story of 
colonial times, by John G. Whittier. 

Blue Sky Somewhere, pathetic. 

Coney Island Down der Pay, German 
Dialect, by Henry Firth Wood. 

The Sioux Chief’s Daughter, very dra- 


matic and exceedingly popular, by 
Joaquin Miller. 

The Bald-Headed Man, very funny, in- 
troducing an inquisitive child. 

An International Episode, an encore. 

The Arrow and the Song, also a pleas- 
ing encore piece, by Henry W. Long- 
fellow. 

0 

Rest, good for Sunday-schools, by 
George MacDonald. 

Carl, dramatic. 

Enoch Arden, an extract from the popu- 
lar poem of that name, by Tennyson. 

The Character of Washington, for 
Washington’s Birthday. 

A Practical Young Woman, humorous. 

Over the Hill from the Poorhouse, a se- 
quel to Over the Hill to the Poor- 
house, by Will Carleton. 

Peace in God, for Sunday-schools, by 
Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe. 

Beecher on Eggs, humorous. 

A Tale of the Yorkshire Coast, a pa- 
thetic selection in Yorkshire Dialect. 

An American Specimen, humorous, by 
Mark Twain. 

Little Feet, pathetic. 

An Order fora Picture, a very accept- 
able pathetic selection, always popu- 
lar. 

How “ Ruby ” Played, a very humor- 
ous piece, giving a countryman’s de- 
scription of the playing of Rubenstein. 

Reply to Hayne, oratorical and good for 
teaching, by Daniel Webster. 

The First Quarrel, dramatic and pa 
thetic, by Tennyson. 

Vashti, very popular, by Julia C. R. 
Dorr. 

Her Letter, a story of early California, 
scene in Poverty Flat, by Bret Harte. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections No. 9 


Compiled by Mrs. J. W. SHOEMAKER 

Vice-President of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 
200 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 

The following are some of the most popular pieces in this number: 


Mrs. Walker’s Betsy, astory of humble 
life told in graphic language. 

Bertha in the Lane, pleasing pathos, 
exemplifying a sister’s sacrifice, by 
Mrs. Browning. 

Mrs. Ward’s Visit to the Prince, supe- 
rior Yankee Dialect. 

Selling the Farm, a pathetic story of 
farm life. 

The White Squall, humorous, by Wil- 
liam M. Thackeray. 

Brier-Rose, a thrilling Norwegian 
story, very popular, by Hjalmar 
Hjorth Boyesen. 

A Christmas Ballad, a pathetic Christ- 
mas story. 

The National Ensign, a patriotic decla- 
mation. 

Horatius at the Bridge, heroic, very 
popular, by T. B. Macaulay. 

Lookout Mountain, German Dialect. 

The Child on the Judgment Seat, moral 
and spiritual, good for Sunday- 
schools. 

The Sailing of King Olaf, beautiful sen- 
timent, excellent for vocal culture. 

The Palace of the King, Scotch Dialect. 

The Aged Stranger ; or, I Was With 
Grant, humorous incident of the Civil 
War, by Bret Harte. 

Baby’s Visitor, encore. 

Mine Vamily , German Dialect, by 
Charles Follen Adams. 

The Ideal, encore. 

Rover’s Petition, good child’s piece, by 
James T. Fields. 

Pwize Spwing Poem, a dude’s poem. 

Potency of English Words, oratorical, 


excellent literature, good for teach- 
ing, by John S. Macintosh, D. D. 

Thoughts for a New Year, for New 

Year’s. 

Master Johnny’s Next-Door Neighbor, 

boy characterization, by Bret Harte. 

William Goetz, humorous. 

Connor, very pathetic and exceedingly 
popular. 

The Song of the Camp, introduces the 
song of Annie Laurie, by Bayard Tay- 
lor. 

Tribute to Washington, for Washing- 
ton’s Birthday. 

St. George and the Dragon, dramatic. 

The Yorkshire Cobbler, good for temper- 
ance occasions, Yorkshire Dialect. 

Sam’s Letter, and extract from Our 
American Cousin, a humorous imper- 
sonation of an English lord. 

Unnoticed and Unhonored Heroes, ora- 
torical. 

School Begins To-day, appropriate for 
the opening of schools. 

The Truth of Truths, excellent litera- 
ture, good for teaching, by Ruskin. 

Terpsichore in the Flat Creek Quarters, 
describes a dance among the Negroes, 
Darkey Dialect. 

The Widow and Her Son, beautiful and 
pathetic, by Washington Irving. 

Awfully Lovely Philosophy, characteri- 
zation of a gushing aesthetic young 
girl. 

Last Prayer of Mary, Queen of Scots, 

pathetic, the last hours of Queen 
Mary. 

The First Party, humorous, child char- 
acterization. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections No. 10 


Compiled by Mrs. J. W. SHOEMAKER 


Vice-President of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 
200 Pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 

Special mention may be made of the following, which are some of the 
best pieces in this number: 


Eulogy on Garfield, eulogistic of the life 
and death of President Garfield, by 
Hon. James G. Blaine. 

The Phantom Ship, a tale of a slave 
ship, by Celia Thaxter. 

Despair, dramatic, by Tennyson. 

Washington Hawkins Dines With Col. 
Sellers, humorous, by Twain and 
Warner. 

Drifting, a pleasing and always popular 
poem, by Thomas Buchanan Read. 

The Law of Death, patnetic, by Edwin 
Arnold. 

Tilghman’s Ride, how he brought the 
news from Yorktown to Philadelphia. 

A Frenchman on Macbeth, French char- 
acterization. 

The Lost Found, pathetic, heing an ex- 
tract from Evangeline, by Henry W. 
Longfellow. 

Dick Johnson’s Picture, an interesting 
temperance story. 

Theology in the Quarters, Negro Dia- 
lect. 

The Death of Roland, heroic, the inci- 
dent is that of a battle between the 
Christians and Saracens. 

To the Survivors of the Battle of Bun- 
ker Hill, patriotic and oratorical, also 
good for teaching, by Daniel Webster. 

The Shriving of Guinevere, a fine dra- 
matic recitation, by Dr. S. Weir 
Mitchell. 

A Reminiscence of Exhibition Day, hu- 

morous, by R. J. Burdette. 

The Blind Lamb, a pleasing child’s reci- 
tation, by Celia Thaxter. 

The Old Year and the New, for New 
Year’s, by Eben E. Rexford. 

Little Rocket ’ s Christmas, a pleasing 
Christmas story, by Vandyke Brown. 

Larrie O’Dee, Irish Dialect. 

The Schoolmaster Beaten, dramatic, 


excellent for characterization. An 
extract from Nicholas Nickleby, by 
Charles Dickens. 

Dot Baby off Mine, German Dialect, by 
Charles Pollen Adams. 

Caught in the Quicksand, dramatic, ex- 
cellent piece for teaching, by Victor 
Hugo. 

Nay, I’ll Stay With the Lad, dramatic. 

Little Dora’s Soliloquy, child charac- 
terization. 

Rev. Gabe Tucker’s Remarks, Negro 
Dialect. 

The Irrepressible Boy, introduces an in- 

quisitive boy. 

Herve Riel, a fine dramatic recitation, 
by Robert Browning. 

Jamie, dramatic and pathetic, very 
popular. 

Armageddon, the war cry of the future, 
by Edwin Arnold. 

Tammy’s Prize, Scotch Dialect. 

New England’s Chevy Chase, patriotic, 
by Edward Everett Hale. 

A Railway Matinee, very funny, excel- 
lent opportunities for various imper- 
sonations, by R. J. Burdette. 

Mick Tandy’s Revenge, pathetic, but 
with a pleasing ending. 

The Sky, excellent literature, a beauti- 
ful description, good for teaching, by 
Ruskin. 

Balaklava, a dramatic incident in the 
war of Russia. 

Chickamauga, patriotic, good for Deco- 
ration Day. 

The Wayside Inn, pathetic, by Adelaide 
A. Procter. 

The True Story of Little Boy Blue, a 

pleasing child’s piece. 

Rizpah, the familiar Bible story in blank 
verse, dramatic and pathetic, parts to 
be sung. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections No. SI 


Compiled by Mrs. J. W. SHOEMAKER 


Vice-President of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 

200 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 

This has always been one of the most popular numbers of the series. 
Among the many pleasing selections in this number may be mentioned 
the following : 


Apostrophe to the Ocean, excellent for 
vocal training, by Byron. 

An Arctic Aurora, an interesting de- 
scription of the Northland. 

The Bobolink, affords opportunities for 
tne introduction of bird tones. 

Catching the Colt, a good recitation for 
young folks. 

The Child Martyr, an excellent child’s 
piece. 

The Clown’s Baby, a pleasing incident 
of life in a mining camp. 

The Convict’s Soliloquy the Night Be- 
fore Execution, exceedingly dramatic 
and pathetic. 

Death of Little Bombey, pathetic, ex- 
tract from Dombey and Son, by 
Charles Dickens. 

The Dutchman’s Snake, very amusing. 

Echo and the Ferry, a beautiful descrip- 
tion, good piece for impersonation, by 
Jean Ingelow. 

Flash, the Fireman’s Story, an amus- 
ing incident of a milkman’s horse that 
had served its time in the fire depart- 
ment, by Will Carleton. 

The Foxes’ Tails; or, Sandy Macdon- 
ald’s Signal. This is one of the most 
deservingly popular humorous pieces 
in print, and is given with marked 
success by the best readers. 

The Freckled-Faced Girl, humorous 
characterization of a pert young girl. 

The Front Gate, humorous. 

The Froward Duster, very amusing, by 
R. J. Burdette. 

Garfield at the Wheel, patriotic. 

The Grandmother’s Apology, old lady 
characterization, by Tennyson. 

Her Name, child characterization. 

Jerry, introducing t he impersonation of 
a newsboy, very popular. 


The Lisping Lover, encore. 

Little Gottlieb’s Christmas, a pleasing 
Christmas story of Germany. 

Mice at Play, humorous, opportunities 
fora number of characterizations. 

Modern Facilities for Evangelizing the 
World, oratorical, by Henry Ward 
Beecher. 

Mona’s Waters, highly dramatic. 

The New Slate, child characterization. 

Nicodemus Dodge, humorous, by Mark 
Twain. 

No Kiss, encore. 

The Old Year and the New, for New 
Year’s, by Josephine Pollard. 

One Flower for Nelly, pathetic Easter 
piece, by Rose Hartwick Thorpe. 

The Prospects of the Republic, oratori- 
cal, by Edward Everett. 

Queen Vashti’s Lament, dramatic and 
pathetic. 

Rock Me to Sleep, pathetic. 

Romance of a Hammock, very clever 
humor. 

The Shadow of Doom, dramatic recital, 
by Celia Thaxter. 

Song of the Mystic, a beautiful moral 
and religious poem, by P'ather Ryan. 

Sunday Fishin’, Negro Dialect. 

Supposed Speech of John Adams on the 
Declaration of Independence, patri- 
otic, by Daniel Webster. 

A Telephonic Conversation, humorous, 
by Mark Twain. 

This Side and That, encore, by George 
MacDonald. 

Thora, a Norwegian story, very popu- 
lar, by Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen. 

Ticket 0’ Leave, dramatic, by George 
R. Sims. 

Where’s Annette? dramatic. 

The Wonders of Genealogy, humorous. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections No. 12 


Compiled by Mrs. J. W. SHOEMAKER 


Vice-President of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 
200 Pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 

Special mention may be made of the following superior selections : 


Aunty Doleful’s Visit, the incident is 
that of an old lady trying to cheer 
a sick niece by telling her all sorts of 
distressing news, by Mary Kyle Dal- 
las. 

Aux Italiens, an exceedingly popular 
selection, parts may be sung, by Rob- 
ert Bulwer Lytton. 

The Ballad of Cassandra Brown, a tra- 
vestie on soineof the modern forms of 
exaggerated elocution. 

The Battle-Flag of Shenandoah, a pa- 
triotic poem pertaining to the Civil 
War, by Joaquin Miller. 

The Bells, a superior selection for vocal 
culture, by Edgar A. Poe. 

Bells Across the Snow, a pleasing 
Christmas poem, by Frances Ridley 
Havergal. 

The Bishop’s Visit, a good child’s reci- 
tation, by Emily Huntingdon Miller. 

The Blind Poet’s Wife, a pleasing nar- 
rative and an excellent recitation, by 
Edwin Coller. 

The Book Canvasser, humorous, by 
Max Adler. 

A Brother’s Tribute, a strong heroic 
and pathetic selection, good for G. A. 
R. occasions. 

The Country School, humorous. 

Earnest Views of Life, an instructive 
declamation, by Austin Phelps, D. D. 

An Eastertide Deliverance, A. D. 430, 
good for Easter occasions. 

The Engineer’s Making Love, humor- 
ous, by Robert J. Burdette. 

The Fall of Pemberton Mill, one of the 
most pathetic, dramatic, and generally 
effective recitations in print, contains 
singing parts, is exceedingly popular, 
by Elizabeth Stuart Phelps. 

A Fly’s Cogitations, a humorous de- 
scription of a fly’s meditations during 
its progress over the scalp of a bald- 
headed man. 

Good-bye, a good encore piece, illustrat- 
ing how women say good-bye to each 
other. 

The Grace of Fidelity, a good Sunday- 
school selection. 

How Girls Study, humorous, good op- 


portunities for. impersonation of dif- 
ferent girl characters. 

How the Gospel Came to Jim Oaks, pa- 
thetic, a story of a mining camp. 

Interviewing Mrs. Pratt, an amusing 
experience of a reporter attempting to 
interview the wives of a Mormon. 

Jesus, Lover of My Soul, a very pleas- 
ing selection, parts to be sung, by Eu- 
gene J. Hall. 

Jimmy Brown’s Steam Chair, very 
amusing. 

Lasca, dramatic and pathetic, scene in 
Texas on a cattle ranch, exceedingly 
popular. 

The Legend of the Beautiful, a strong 
spiritual piece, by Plenry W. Longfel- 
low. 

Lincoln’s Last Dream, a pathetic poem, 
good for recitation, by Hezekiah But- 
terworth. 

The Maister an’ the Bairns, Scotch 

Dialect. 

Mine Schildhood, German Dialect, by 
Charles Follen Adams. 

The Newsboy’s Debt, a pathetic poem, 
by Helen Hunt Jackson. 

Over the Orchard Fence, old farmer 
characterization. 

Poor House Nan, pathetic, by Lucy H. 
Blinn. 

Popular Science Catechism, humor- 
ous. 

Receiving Calls, humorous ; extracts 
from the diary of a minister’s wile. 

Santa Claus in the Mines, a popular 
Christmas story of a mining camp. 

The Serenade, a good encore piece. 

ShS Cut His Hair, humorous, by the 
Danbury News Man. 

The Skeleton’s Story, a fine dramatic 
description — prairie scene. 

A Story of Chinese Love, a good encore 
piece. 

Teddy McGuire and Paddy 0 ’ Flynn, 

Irish Dialect. 

Temperance, a strong address on that 
subject by the Rt. Rev. John Ireland. 

ATer’ble ’Sperience, Negro Dialect, by 
Rev. Plato Johnson. 

Total Annihilation, a good encore 
piece, sometimes known as “ There 
aint goin’ to be no core.” 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections No. 13 


Compiled by Mrs. J. W. SHOEMAKER 

Vice=President of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 
200 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 


This issue has also been one of the popular numbers of the series. 
Among some of the good pieces which it contains are the following : 


The Abbess’s Story, a dramatic de- 
scription, by Henry W. Longfellow. 

After-Dinner Speech by a Frenchman, 
good French impersonation. 

The Ancient Miner’s Story, pathetic, 
by Will Carleton. 

Aristarchus Studies Elocution, a trav- 
estie on some kinds of modern elo- 
cution. 

At Last, a beautiful spiritual poem, by 
John G. Whittier. 

Aunt Polly’s George Washington, Ne- 
gro Dialect. 

Banford’s Burglar Alarm, exceedingly 
amusing and very popular. 

Canada, a pleasing tribute to our neigh- 
bors across the border. 

The Chase, very dramatic, by Walter 
Scott. 

A Child’s Dream of a Star, very pa- 
thetic, by Charles Dickens. 

The Chopper’s Child, a good child’s 
piece, by Alice Carey. 

The Cloud, a beautiful description and 
a good teaching piece. 

Ego et Echo, good encore piece, afford- 
ing excellent opportunities for dis- 
placing the voice, by John G. Saxe. 

The Humblest of the Earth Children, 
fine descriptive piece, good for teach- 
ing, bv Ruskin. 

In the Signal Box, a Station-master’s 
Story, exceedingly pathetic but with 
a pleasing ending, by Geo. R. Sims. 

Jehoshaphat’s Deliverance, good for 
Sundav-schools. • 

The Little Quaker Sinner, a good girl’s 
piece. 

Lead the Way, a fine declamation, by 
Lvman Abbott. 

The Legend of the Organ Builder, apa- 
thetic description and a very popular 
piece, by Julia C. R. Dorr. 

Let the Angels Ring the Bells, a pleas- 
ing Christmas poem. 

Lord Dundreary in the Country, a very 
taking extract from “ Our American 
Cousin,” impersonation of an Eng- 
lish lord. 

Mary’s Night Ride, an extract from 
“ Dr. Sevier.” It is an incident of the 


Civil War and is a very thrilling and 
dramatic selection ; exceedingly popu- 
lar, by George W. Cable. 

Memorial Day, appropriate for Decora- 
tion Day. 

A Methodist Class Meeting, humorous 
and pathetic, Yorkshire Dialect. 

Mine Shildren, German Dialect, by 
Charles Follen Adams. 

Mother and Poet, dramatic and pa- 
thetic, very popular, by Mrs. Brown- 
ing. 

A New Cure for Rheumatism, thetreat- 

ment is the application of bees to the 
afflicted parts, very popular, by Rob- 
ert J. Burdette. 

The New Year, or Which Way, appro- 

riate for New Year’s, by Lyman Ab- 
ott. 

The Old Continentals, a pleasing tribute 
to the soldiers of colonial times. 

The Old Man Goes to Town, excellent 
opportunity for old-man characteriza- 
tion. 

On the Stairway, encore. 

Out to Old Aunt Mary’s, one of the 
popular poems of the author, James 
WhilCQinb Riley. 

Our Relations to England, oratorical, 
and a good teaching piece, by Edward 
Everett 

Regulus to the Carthagenians, familiar 
to all, but still a most acceptable decla- 
mation, byE. Kellogg. 

A Rhymlet, encore. 

Song of the American Eagle, a good 
patriotic poem. 

The Spring Poet, humorous. 

The Two Stammerers, the incident is 
that of two persons who claim to have 
been cured of stammering, but it is a 
question which is the worse stammer- 
er of the two, very amusing and 
popular. 

The V-a-s-e, illustration of the differ- 
ent pronunciations of the word in 
different localities, humorous and a 
good encore piece. 

The Yosemite, a sublime description of 
the far-famed California Valley. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections No. 14 


Compiled by Mrs. J. W. SHOEMAKER 

Vice-President of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 
200 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 

The following are among the popular selections in this number : 


Ballad of the Wicked Nephew, a good 
humorous piece, by James T. Fields. 

Battle of Morgarten, heroic, the inci- 
dent is that of a battle between the 
Swiss and Austrians, by Mrs. He- 
mans. 

Be a Woman, a beautiful and popular 
poem, by Ur. Edward Brooks, A. M. 

Bill and Joe, a pleasing and clever hu- 
morous selection, by Oliver Wendell 
Holmes. 

Brudder Yerkes’s Sermon, Negro Dia- 
lect. 

The Cow and the Bishop, a capital hu- 
morous selection containing excellent 
opportunities for impersonation. 

A Culprit, humorous, by Margaret Van- 
degnft. 

Daniel Gray, a beautiful description, by 
J. G. Holland. 

The Day is Done, the ever-pleasing and 
popular poem, by Longfellow. 

The Death of steerforth, an exceeding- 
ly dramatic extract from David Cop- 
perfield. by Charles Dickens. 

Destiny of America, oratorical. 

Domestic Economy, humorous, by the 
Danbury News man. 

The Drummer Boy of Mission Ridge, 
excellent for G. A. R. occasions. 

The Finding of the Cross, a good mis- 
sionary piece. 

Going for the Cows, a description of 
country life, introducing various calls, 
by Eugene J. Hall. 

The Great Issue, oratorical, good for 
teaching, by Edward Everett. 

Jimmy Brown’s Sister’s Wedding, 
very funny. 

June, the well-known poem, by James 
Russell Lowell. 

Jupiter and Ten, encore, by James T. 
Fields. 

King Harold’s Speech to His Army Be- 
fore the Battle of Hastings, heroic, 
by Bulwer Lytlon. 

The Lady Judith’s Vision, a pleasing 
Christmas poem. 

The Last Charge of Ney, oratorical. 

The Life-Boat, pathetic, but with a 
pleasing ending, by Geo. R. Sims. 

Military Supremacy Dangerous to Lib- 


erty, oratorical, good for teaching, by 
Henry Clay. 

The Miseries of War, also oratorical 
and good for teaching, by Chalmers. 

Money Musk, description of a negro 
dance, excellent opportunities for 
characterization, very popular. 

A Mother’s Portrait, a very pathetic 
poem, familiar but always acceptable, 
by Co\vper. 

Mr.’ Winkle Puts On Skates, humor- 
ous, by Charles Dickens. 

Nearer Home, a beautiful spiritual 
poem, by Phoebe Cary. 

The Night Watch, very dramatic, by 
Francois Coppee. 

Pockets, a strong descriptive piece, by 
Julian Hawthorne. 

The Puritan, a tribute to our fore- 
fathers, by George William Curtis. 

The Romance of the Swan’s Nest, a 
beautiful description, by Mrs. Brown- 
ing. 

A Second Trial, how a boy almost 
failed in his commencement oration, 
hut was saved by his sister from do- 
ing so ; very popular, by Sara Winter 
Kellogg. 

The Ship of State, patriotic, an excel- 
lent declamation. 

Sister Agatha’s Ghost, humorous, 

Yorkshire Dialect. 

The Soldiers’ Home, Washington, for 

G. A. R. occasions, by Joaquin Miller. 

The Sweetest Picture, a most accept- 
able pathetic poem, by Alice Carv. 

A Tear of Repentance,’ a beautiful de- 
scription, bv Thomas Moore. 

The Tender Heart, encore, by Helen 
Gray Cone. 

Thoughts for the New Year, for New 

Year’s. 

Three Leaves from a Boy’s Diary, 

humorous. 

The Twenty-second of February, for 
Washington’s Birthday, by William 
Cullen Bryant. 

The Victor of Marengo, excellent decla- 
mation, good for teaching. 

The Widow Cummiskey, '’clever Irish 
wit. 

Ulysses, a pleasing description, good 
tor teaching, by Tennyson. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections No. 15 


Compiled by Mrs. J. VV. SHOEMAKER 

Vice-President of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 
200 Pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 

For Recitals this is one of the best numbers in the series. The following 
may be mentioned as among the popular pieces : 


America, a patriotic poem. 

The Bachelors, excellent humor. 

The Bartholdi Statue, an eloquent 
tribute to the Goddess of Liberty, by j 
Julian Hawthorne. 

Beautiful Hands, pleasing sentiment. 

Becalmed, very dramatic. 

Childhood Scenes, a beautiful descrip- 
tion. 

Christmas Guests, a good Christmas 
story. 

The City of Is, a fanciful poem. 

Commerce, a strong declamatory selec- 
tion, good for teaching, by Edward 
Everett. 

A Concord Love Song, encore. 

David’s Lament for Absalom, pathetic 
and popular, excellent for teaching, 
by N. P. Willis. 

The Death of Jezebel, very dramatic. 

Der Oak und der Vinfi, German Dialect, 
very popular, by Charles Follen 
Adams. 

The Fading Leaf, a beautiful descrip- 
tion, by Gail Hamilton. 

Fall In ! i860, an incident in the forma- 
tion of the Southern Army ; an excel- 
lent piece for characterization, by 
George W. Cable. 

Flag of the Rainbow, patriotic, by 
Thomas Dunn English. 

The Golden Bridge, humorous. 

Grant’s Place in History, an histori- 
cal description. 

The Gray Champion, a fine teaching 
piece, embodying the spirit of Ameri- 
can freedom, by Nathaniel Haw- 
thorne. 

Guessing Nationalities, humorous, 
good piece for characterization, by 
Mark Twain. 

In the Children’s Hospital, pathetic, by 
Tennyson. 

Ireland to be Ruled by Irishmen, Irish 
patriotism, good for declamation, by 
William E. Gladstone. 

Jem’s Last Ride, pathetic. 

King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, ex- 
tract from ‘Guinevere”: a beautiful 

. recitation, by Tennyson. 


The Kiss Deferred, a pleasing pathetic 
poem, very popular. 

La Tour d ’Auvergne, heroic. 

Little Christel, a child’s piece. 

Little Foxes, an instructive selection, 
by R. J. Burdette. 

Little Maid with Lovers Twain, hu- 
morous. 

Manhood, a stirring declamation, by 
George K. Morris, D. D. 

Mr. Beecher and the Waifs, a pleasing 
incident that occurred in his own 
church. 

Mrs. Picket’s Missionary Box, good 
for missionary occasions. 

Music in Camp, frequently known as 
” Music on the Rappahannock,” parts 
to be sung, very popular. 

An Old Roundsman’s Story, for Christ- 
mas, by Margaret Eytinge. 

Our Choir, encore. 

Our First Experience with a Watch 
Dog, an extract from ‘‘ Rudder 
Grange,” very amusing and popular, 
by Frank R. Stockton. 

A Perfectly, Awfully, Lovely Story, 
an aesthetic exaggeration. 

The Price of a Drink, good for temper- 
ance occasions, by Josephine Pollard. 

She Wanted to Hear it Again, encore. 

Speech Against the Stamp Act, ora- 
torical. and a good teaching piece, by 
James Otis. 

A Song for the Conquered, a stirring 

patriotic poem. 

A Story of an Apple, a good recitation 
for a boy, by Sydney Dyer. 

A Strange Experience, 'a good girl’s 
piece, bv Josephine Pollard. 

The Three Kings, a good descriptive 
poem, by Henry W. Longfellow. 

A Tragedy on Past Participles, humor- 
ous. 

The Two Runaways, Negro Dialect, 
humorous, very popular, by H. S. 
Edwards. 

Watch Night, for New Year’s, by 
Horatius Bonner. 

The World We Live In, one of the au- 
thor’s characteristic graphic descrip- 
tions, by T. De Witt Talmage, 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections No. 16 


Compiled by Mrs. J. W. SHOEMAKER 

Vice-President of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 
200 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 


This issue has always been one of the popular numbers of the series. 
Special mention may be made of the following excellent selections : 


The Angel and the Shepherds, a de- 
scription of the birth of Christ, being 
an extract from “ Ben Hur ” ; can be 
accompanied with musical interludes, 
by Lew Wallace. 

Back from the War, a graphic descrip- 
tion ; good for G. A. R. occasions, by 
T. De Witt Talmage. 

The Battle Hymn, oratorical and good 
for teaching. 

Calls, a minister’s somewhat curious 
boy endeavors to get an explanation 
of ministerial calls , very funny. 

The Chariot Race, a fine description 
and a strong dramatic selection ; one 
of the most popular pieces ever writ- 
ten, an extract from “Ben Hur,’’ by 
Lew Wallace. 

The Christening, an amusing incident 
of how a child was misnamed in the 
christening. 

The Curse to Labor, a strong appeal 
for temperance among the laboring 
classes, by T. V. Powderlv. 

The Day of Judgment, an amusing in- 
cident of two children who thought 
the world had come to an end, by 
Elizabeth Stuart Phelps. 

Decoration Day, a beautiful patriotic 
poem, bv Wallace Bruce. 

The Elf Child, sometimes known as 
“ The Gobble-uns’ll Git You,” by 
James Whitcomb Rilev. 

The First View of the Heavens, a 
beautiful description. 

Fraudulent Party Outcries, oratorical 
and a good teaching piece, by Daniel 
Webster. 

How the Celebrated MiltiadesPeterkin 
Paul Got the Better of Santa Claus, 
a very amusing Christmas story. 

An Invitation to the Zoological Gar- 
dens, a very funny stuttering piece. 

The Jefful, affords good opportunities 
for baby talk and cries, by John Hab- 
berton. 

Jimmy Hoy, a capital Irish Dialect 
prose selection, by Samuel Lover. 

Lily Servoss’s Ride, a fine dramatic se- 
lection. The incident takes place at 


the close of the War during the rav- 
ages of the Ku-Klux, by Judge Tour- 
gee. 

The Message of the Dove, a dramatic 
Easter poem, by E. Nesbit. 

The Mourner a la Mode, a satirical poem 
on the mourning custom as observed 
in fashionable circles, by John G. 
Saxe. 

The New South, a graphic description 
of the present condition of the South, 
by Henry W. Grady. 

An Old Sweetheart of Mine , a very popu - 
lar poem, by James Whitcomb Riley. 

A Pin, clever humor, by Ella Wheeler 
Wilcox. 

The Portrait, very dramatic and ex- 
ceedingly popular, by Lord Lytton. 

Praying Tor Shoes, pathetic, by Paul 
Hamilton Hayne. 

Song of the Mountaineers, a patriotic 
poem, by T. Buchanan Read. 

The Tell-Tale Heart, a murderer’s con- 
fession, exceedingly dramatic, by Ed- 
gar Allen Poe. 

That Waltz of Von Weber, a beautiful 
rhythmical poem, by Nora Perry. 

The Thanksgiving in Boston Harbor, a 
splendid Thanksgiving piece, by He- 
zekiah Butterworth. 

Topsey ’s First Lesson, an extract from 
“ Uncle Tom’s Cabin,” very funny and 
affording excellent opportunities for 
characterization, by Harriet Beecher 
Stowe. 

Toussaint L’ Ouverture, oratorical, by 
Wendell Phillips. 

The Two Pictures, the story of a beau- 
tiful child, who when grown to man- 
hood was found in a felon’s cell. 

The Uncle, a man had murdered his 
brother and in attempting to tell the 
story to his nephew reveals his iden- 
tity-, intensely dramatic, by H. G. 
Bell. 

Water and Rum, one of the author’s 
most stirring appeals for temperance, 
by John B. Gough. 

Wisdom Dearly Purchased, excellent 
declamation, by Edmund Burke. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections No. 17 


Compiled by Mrs. J. W. SHOEMAKER 

Vice=President of The National School of Elocution and Oratory 
200 Pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 

This is also one of the good numbers of the series, by some consid- 
ered one of the best. Among the many good pieces may be mentioned 
the following: 


Alexander’s Feast ; or, the Power of 
Music, a beautiful rhythmical poem, 
popular as a recitation and good for 
teaching, by Dryden. 

Army of the Potomac, an excellent 
poem, for G. A. R. occasions, by Joa- 
quin Miller. 

The Army of the Potomac, a splendid 
prose selection, also good forG. A. R. 
occasions, by Chauncey M. Depew. 

Aunt Melissy on Boys, Yankee Dialect, 
very amusing throughout, the particu- 
lar incident being that of turkeys be- 
coming intoxicated by eating corn 
soaked in rum, by J. T. Trowbridge. 

Aunt Sylvia’s First Lesson in Geogra- 
phy, Negro Dialect, an old Negro 
woman’s first attempt at the study of 
geography. 

Colloquial Powers of Dr. Franklin, a 

strong descriptive piece, good for 
teaching. 

Dead on the Field of Honor, a good dec- 
lamation. 

Easter Morning, an Easter-tide oration, 
by Henry Ward Beecher. 

The First’ Thanksgiving, a beautiful 
poem for Thanksgiving occasions, by 
Hezekiah Butterworth. 

The Garfield Statue, an eloquent trib- 
ute to the martyred President, by Hon. 
Grover Cleveland. 

The Heavenly Guest, a spiritual poem, 
translated from the Russian of Count 
Tolstoi, by Celia Thaxter. 

How We Fought the Fire, an amusing 
poem, descriptive of afire in a country 
village, bv Will Carleton. 

Inge, the Boy King, an excellent dra- 
matic selection, Norwegian scene, by 
Hjalmar Hjorth Boyesen. 

Jimmy Brown’s Prompt Obedience, hu- 
morous. 

Labor, a prose declamation, by Thomas 
Carlyle. 

The Land of Thus and So, a fanciful 
poem, by James Whitcomb Riley. 

The Legend of Rabbi Ben Levi, a beau- 
tiful and instructive poem, by Henry 
W. Longfellow. 

Lexington, a patriotic poem pertaining 


to Revolutionary times, by Oliver 
Wendell Holmes. 

The Little Match Girl, a pathetic Christ- 
mas story, by Hans Christian Ander- 
{ sen. 

Lord Dundreary’s Riddles, a popular 
extract from “ Our American Cousin,” 
j impersonation of an English lord, 
i Lost, an excellent dramatic piece, good 
J for temperance occasions, by L. M. 
Cunard. 

Love of Country, patriotic and a good 
teaching piece, by Newton Booth. 

The Low T -Backed Car, very popular 
Irish Dialect poem, humorous, by 
Samuel Lover. 

The Minuet, a pleasing poem, introduc- 
ing the minuet step. 

The Monk’s Magnificat, a very popu- 
lar poem in which a chant is effec- 
tively introduced, by E. Nesbit. 

Mr. Brown Has His Hair Cut, a very 
amusing prose selection. 

The Poor and the Rich, a fine moral 
and instructive poem, by James Rus- 
sell Lowell. 

The Ride of Collins Graves, a thrilling 
description of the bursting of a dam, 
by John Boyle O’Reilly. 

Rome and Carthage, a strong dramatic 
declamation, by Victor Hugo. 

The Rustic Bridal ; or, the Blind Girl 
of Castle Cuille, a beautiful descrip- 
tive poem, affording opportunities for 
impersonations, by Henry W. Long- 
fellow. 

Sent Back by the Angels, pathetic and 
a very popular selection. 

The Silver Plate, the incident is that of 
a child offering itself as a contribu- 
tion to a missionary collection, by 
Margaret J. Preston. 

! Took Nodice, German Dialect. 

[ The Usual Way, very clever humor. 

The Vow of Washington, eulogistic of 
the work of Washington, by John G. 
Whittier. 

1 What is a Minority? a fine oratorical 
selection, by John B. Gough. 

A Wild Night at Sea, a strong dramatic 
1 description, by Charles Dickens. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections No. 18 


Compiled by SILAS S. NEFF 

President of The Neff College of Oratory 
200 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 


Special attention is directed to the 
the large list found in this number: 

Absolution, a popular poem, dramatic 
and pathetic, by E. Nesbit. 

After the Wedding, a very effective pa- 
thetic poem, by VVm. L. Keese. 

Appeal for Temperance, an eloquent ad- 
dress on the subject of temperance, 
by Henry W. Grady, 

The Auctioneer’s Gift, a pleasing pa- 
thetic poem, by S. N. Foss. 

Ballot Reform, oratorical, by Hon. 
Grover Cleveland. 

A Bad Boy’s Diary, humorous, boy 
characterization. 

The Blind Man’s Testimony, a good 
Sunday-school piece. 

The Captain’s Well, one of the latest 
poems of John G. Whittier. 

Charity Grinder and the Postmaster 
General, a popular humorous selec- 
tion, affording excellent opportunities 
for characterization, by Mary Kyle 
Dallas. 

Daniel Periton’s Ride, a thrilling inci- 
dent of the great Johnstown flood, by 
Judge Tourgee. 

The Defense of the Bride, a popular 
dramatic poem, by Anna Katherine 
Green. 

The Death Bridge of the Tay, pathetic, 
but with a pleasing ending and very 
popular, by Will Carleton. 

The Drunkard’s Daughter, a pathetic 
temperance selection, by Eugene J. 
Hall. 

Gets Dhere, German Dialect, by Charles 
Pollen Adams. 

The Good, an instructive selection, by 
J. Boyle O’Reilly. 

The Grand Old Day, a Thanksgiving 
poem, by Will Carleton. 

The Home in the Government, oratori- 
cal, by Henry W. Grady. 

Imph-m, a very popular bit of Scotch 
Dialect. 

John of Mt. Sinai, a good Sunday- 
school selection, by A. L. Frisbie. 

Little Charlie’s Christmas, a pathetic 
Christmas story. 

The Man in the Moon, a quaint humor- 
ous poem, by James Whitcomb Riley. 

Naming the Baby, humorous. 


following good pieces selected from 


Nathan Hale, the Martyr Spy, a dra- 
matic incident of the Revolutionary 
War, by 1. H. Brown. 

New Year’s Hymn, good for New 
Year’s occasions, by Frances Ridley 
Havergal. 

A New Series of Census Questions, 

very amusing. 

Noses, a boy’s composition, humorous, 
by Henry Firth Wood. 

O’Grady’s Goat, Irish Dialect. 

Opportunities of the Scholar , a strong 
appeal to students to make the best of 
their opportunities, by Henry W. 
Grady. 

A Packet of Letters, a very clever hu- 
morous poem, by Oliver Het ford. 

The Pilgrims, an eloquent tribute to 
our forefathers, by Chauncey M. De- 
pew. 

A Relenting Mob, dramatic, by Lucy 
H. Hooper. 

She Washed for Him, humorous. 

She Liked Him Rale Weel, a pleasing 
bit of Scotch Dialect. 

Squarest Un Among ’Em, pathetic. 

St. Martin and the Beggar, good for 
Sunday-schools, by Margaret E. 
Sangster. 

Taste, an excellent encore poem, by 
James Whitcomb Rilev. 

Through the Dark Forest, a description 
of one of Stanley’s experiences in his 
march through Africa. 

Tobe’s Monument, a very popular pa- 
thetic selection, excellent opportuni- 
ties for characterization. 

To a Water Fowl, a good teaching 
poem, by William Cullen Bryant. 

Two Christmas Eves, a pathetic and 
dramatic poem, by E. Nesbit. 

The Volunteer Organist, pathetic and 
very popular, by S. N. Foss. 

Was I to Blame, a very clever humor- 
ous poem. 

Wanted to See His Old Home Again, 

encore, Negro Dialect. 

The Whistling Regiment, describing 
an incident of the Civil W r ar, introduc- 
ing the song of “Annie Laurie,” very 
popular, by James Clarence Harvey. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections No. 19 


Compiled by Mrs. ANNA RANDALL DIEHL 

the welUknown Author and Teacher of Elocution, New York City 
200 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 


From the large list of good pieces 
directed to the following : 

Address to the Toothache, humorous, 
Scotch Dialect, by Robert Burns. 

Amateur Photography, humorous, by 
Nathan Haskell Dole. 

An American Exile, dramatic, by I. H. 
Brown. 

Ballad of the Wayfarer, pathetic, by 
Robert Buchanan. 

Beware, the always popular poem, good 
for encore, by Henry W. Longfellow. 

Bridget O’Flahnagan’, an Irish Dialect 
selection, being a discussion on Chris- 
tian science and cockroaches. 

Camping and Campers, a pleasing de- 
scription, by the celebrated word 
painter “Adirondack ’’ Murray. 

Courting in Kentucky, characterization 
of Southern mountaineers. 

Daddy Benson and the Fairies, pa- 
thetic, good piece for impersonation. 

A Dinner Discussion, a humorous inci- 
dent of carving a canvas-back duck. 

Divided, a beautiful and pathetic de- 
scriptive poem, by Jean Ingelow. 

A Dream of Fair Women, an extract 
from the celebrated poem by Tenny- 
son. 

The Drop of Water, a very dramatic 
poem, describing a death caused by 
the continuous dropping of water. 

The Dumb Savior, an excellent selec- 
tion for use at meetings of Societies 
for Prevention of Cruelty to Animals. 

Gettin’ On, an old-man characteriza- 
tion. 

Her Laugh— in Four Fits, a good en- 
core piece. 

The Horse Auctioneer, an amusing in- 
cident of how a horse auctioneer at- 
tempted to sell a' piano. 

How Uncle Podger Hung a Picture, a 
capital reading, very amusing, by Je- 
rome K. Jerome. 

In de Mornin’ , Negro Dialect, by Lizzie 

! York Case. 

In Swanage Bay, a dramatic descrip- 
tion, by Dinah Mulock Craik. 

Is It Worth While, an instructive poem, 
by Joaquin Miller. 

Jini Arizona, 1885, a dramatic incident 
of stage-life in Arizona. 

The King’s Daughter, a humorous 


in this number special attention is 

poem, splendid for King’s Daughters’ 
entertainments. 

The Lady of Shalott, a pleasing poem, 
popular with the best readers, by 
Tennyson. 

Lecture by the New Male Star, how a 

woman reporter wrote up an account 
of a lecture, humorous. 

Looking for Bargains, humorous, af- 
fording opportunities for impersona- 
tion. 

Love and Latin, good encore. 

Midnight in London, a graphic descrip- 
tion of the great city by gas-light. 

Muckle-Mouth Meg, a popular poem, 
by Robert Browning. 

Oh ! the Golden Glowing Morning, a 

good Easter poem. 

A Queer Boy, humorous. 

Reuben James, a patriotic story of the 
navy. 

Ride, a di’amatic poem, the incident is a 
fire scene. 

Sermons, instructive and excellent lit- 
erature, by John Ruskin. 

The Siege of the Alamo, the story of the 
Alamo in verse. 

The Summerset Folks, a good encore 
piece. 

Swipesy’s Christmas Dinner, a street 
gamin’s Christmas. 

The Toboggan Slide, very amusing and 
affords opportunities for impersona- 
tion. 

The Tola of Mustard Seed, pathetic, by 
Edwin Arnold. 

A Tragedy in the Sunshine, very dra- 
matic. 

Tray, describes the saving of a child’s 
life by a faithful dog, by Robert 
Browning. 

A True Bostonian at Heaven’s Gate, 

encore. 

Twilight at Nazareth, good for Sun- 
dav-schools, by Joaquin Miller. 

The Veiled Statue at Sais, a fine nar- 

rative poem. 

The War-Horn of the Elkings, a beau- 
tiful specimen of prose poetry, by 
William Morris. 

Yawcob’s Dribulations, German Dia- 
lect, by Charles Follen Adams. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections No. 20 


Compiled by Mrs. EDNA CHAFFEE NOBLE 

Director of The Detroit Training School of Elocution 
200 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 


Special mention may be made of the following pieces selected from the 
large number of excellent selections : 


The Fortunes of War, a pathetic story 
of the Civil War. 

The Survival of the Fittest, a medley. 

Their First Spat, a young couple’s first 
disagreement. 

The Condensed Telegram, humorous. 

A Tale of Sweethearts, good for imper- 
sonation, by George R. Sims. 

The Obstructive Hat in the Pit, an ex- 
ceedingly good humorous selection, 
very popular. 

Dimple and Dumpling, affords good op- 
portunities for child characterization. [ 

The Doctor’s Story, a pathetic prose 
selection, by Bret Harte. 

For A’ That’; or, Selling a Feller, a 
capital humorous prose selection, 
being an extract from the well-known 
writings of Josiah Allen’s Wife. 

Two, a pathetic poem. 

An Early Start, humorous. 

The Rivals, a fanciful poem on the co- i 
quettish order. 

Wait On, a strong spiritual selection. 

He Worried About It, droll humor, by I 
S. W. Foss. I 

Riding on a Rail, description of some 
humorous incidents on a railway 
train, by Mary Kyle Dallas. 

Elopement in Seventy-five, a colonial 
romance. 

Getting Acquainted, encore. 

Millais’s Huguenots, a pathetic story 
of the eve of St. Bartholomew’s mas- 
sacre. 

Judy O’Shea Sees Hamlet, an Irish wo- 
man’s description of the play. 

The Election of the Future, a humorous 
description of how voting will be con- 
ducted when women have the right of 
suffrage. 

Me and Jim ? Western characterization. 

Naughty Kitty Clover, a good girl’s 
piece. 

Boys Wanted, a go.od piece for boys. 

Bridget’s Soliloquy, Irish Dialect, by 
Mary Kyle Dallas. 

Following the Advice of a Physician, 

humorous. 

Josiah, country courting, encore. 


A Casuality, pathetic. 

Theophilus Thistle ’s Thrusted Thumb, 

excellent for articulation exercises. 

A Day in the Woods, a pleasing de- 
scription, by R. J. Bardette. 

A Rajput Nurse, a very dramatic as 
well as pathetic poem, by Edwin Ar- 
nold. 

Song Without Music, a superior Negro 

Dialect selection. 

Parental Discipline, a humorous de- 
scription of an incorrigible boy. 

The Song of the Market Place, how a 
poor woman’s prayer is answered 
through the great tenor, Mario. 

The Wedding, a pathetic story in the 
form of a colloquy, by Southey. 

Halbert and Hob, a strong dramatic 
recitation, by Robert Browning. 

Not in the Programme, a pathetic inci- 
dent in the life of an actress, by Ed- 
win Coller. 

A Poor Rule, encore. 

Aunt Phillis’s Guest, a good Sunday- 
school selection. 

Mrs. Jones’s Revenge, how she failed 
to get even with her husband for stay- 
ing out late. 

Uncle Noah’s Ghost, humorous. 

The Festal Day Has Come, a patriotic 
poem by Hezekiah Butterworth. 

Popular Americans, French Dialect, 
affords opportunities for characteriza- 
tion. 

Do Quincy’s Deed, a dramatic poem. 

Billy, humorous, shows up the pranks 
of a mischievous boy. 

Coaching the Rising Star, a travestie 
on how some modern elocutionists 
train their pupils. 

I Will Not Leave You Comfortless, pa- 
thetic. 

Little Busy Bees, how a popular young 
man was fleeced at a church fair. 

Sir Walter Raleigh and Queen Eliza- 
beth, a humorous description of an 
interview between the two historical 
characters. 

Skimpsey, a pathetic story of a horse 
jockey. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections No. 21 


Compiled by AUSTIN H. MERRILL 

Instructor in Elocution at Vanderbilt University, Nashville, Tenn. 
200 pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 


This issue is characterized by the large number of humorous and en- 
core pieces that it contains, but there are to be found in it many other 
excellent selections as well. Special mention may be made of the following : 


An Uncertain Pledge, encore. 

An Old Vote for Young Marster, negro 
dialect, splendid piece for characteri- 
zation. 

Child and Mother, a fanciful poem, by 
Eugene Field. 

Because, encore. 

Influence After Death, a very good 
short declamation. 

Bill Smith, h umorous, by Max Adler. 

A Little Bird Tells, a child’s piece. 

Her Perfect Lover, encore. 

The Unexpected, encore. 

Thar Was Jim, good for impersonation. 

Overboard, a pathetic description of a 
man being washed overboard at sea.' 

St. Patrick’s Day, Irish Dialect. 

When Should a Girl Marry ? encore. 

A Puzzle, encore, by Margaret Eytinge. 

Nobody Cares, a nWsing little pathetic 
poem. 

The Old Canteen, a pathetic incident of 
two brothers who take different sides 
in the Civil War, by H. S. Edwards. 

True Courage in Life, a short declama- 
tion, good for teaching, by W. E. 
Channing. 

Woman’s Career, clever humor. 

Memory, encore. 

Love of Country, didactic, by I. H. 
Brown. 

Sea Weed, a fanciful poem. 

A Game of Marbles, exceptional oppor- 
tunities for characterization. 

From the Window, pathetic. 

Wearyin’ For You, pathetic, by F. L. 
Stanton. 

Worse Than Marriage, encore. 

How He Lost Her, encore. 

Two Opinions, a pathetic poem, by 
Eugene Field. 

Clive, very dramatic and exceedingly 
popular, by Robert Browning. 

Babies, a very amusing extract from 
“Idle Thoughts of an Idle Fellow,” 
by Jerome K. Jerome. 

Recalled, pathetic, by Margaret J. Pres- 
ton. 

Napoleon at the Pyramids, an excellent 
declamation, by George R. Graff'. 


Lydia’s Ride, an incident of the British 
occupation of Philadelphia. 

The Stranded Bugle, a beautiful de- 
scription 

Personal Influence, didactic. 

Contentment, the reflections of a lazy 
man, by Eva Wilder McGlasson. 

Billows and Shadows, a graphic prose 
description, strong moral, good for 
teaching, by Victor Hugo. 

The H’ Anthem, encore. 

Two Gentlemen of Kentucky, affords 
excellent opportunities for characteri- 
zation, by James Lane Allen. 

The Bridal of Malahide, pathetic. 

The Cry in the Darkness— The Senti- 
nel’s Alarm, a dramatic incident of 
Indian fighting. 

How Lid She Know, encore. 

The Revenge, an heroic poem, by 
Tennyson. 

Intimations of Immortality, didactic. 

What Else Could He Do, encore. 

That Sugar-Plum Tree, a fanciful 
poem, by Eugene P'ield. 

The Benediction, a strong dramatic 
recitation, introduces a chant, by 
Francois Coppee. 

Winnie’s Welcome, Irish Dialect. 

The Sabbath, good for Sunday-schools, 
by T. Frelinghuysen. 

An Italian’s Views on the Labor Ques- 
tion, Italian dialect and characteri- 
zation. 

The Mysteries Of Life, a good declama- 
tion. by Chateaubriand. 

The Men of Gloucester, describes the 
rescue of men at sea, by Laura E. 
Richards. 

An Unregistered Record, humorous, 
negro dialect. 

Best Policy in Regard to Naturaliza- 
tion, a good instructive declamation. 

Crossing the Bar, one of Tennyson’s 
latest and most beautiful poems. 

De Candy Pull, negro dialect. 

A Sisterly Scheme , how a younger sister 
supplanted her oldersister, interesting 
and amusing; very popular; given by 
the best readers, by H. C. Bunner. 

Cupid Swallowed, encore. 


Shoemaker’s Best Selections No. 22 


Compiled by Mrs. LORAINE 1MMEN 

President of the Ladies’ Literary Club, Grand Rapids, Michigan 
200 Pages. Cloth binding, 50 cents ; Paper, 30 cents 


This issue is designed as a memorial number to J. W. Shoemaker, 
A. M., originator of this series. The selections in the main are contributed 
by various prominent elocutionists throughout the country, which is 
sufficient guarantee of their excellence. Of the many superior pieces 
special mention may be made of the following: 


By the Alma, a poem of Scotch hero- 
ism, by James Dawson. 

The Deacon’s Week, a splendid selec- 
tion for missionary occasions, by Rose 
Terry Cooke. 

Hilda’s Little Hood, a most acceptable 
recitation, by Hjalmer Hjorth Boye- 
sen. 

Rural Infelicity, a good humorous 
prose selection. 

A Gowk’s Errant and What Cam’ O’t, 
excellent Scotch dialect. 

The Lost Puppy, humorous. 

The Fate of Sir John Franklin, a good 
piece for vocal culture. 

Little Black Phil, a patriotic incident 
of the Civil War, affording opportuni- 
ties for characterization. 

Marguerite, a Decoration Day story. 

Mr. Pott’s Story, humorous. 

The Old Wife, pathetic. 

Not Ashamed of Ridicule, a good 
declamation. 

My Vesper Song, pathetic, parts to be 
sung. 

Scallywag, a good piece for imperson- 
ation, by Caroline B. Le Row. 

Teaching a Sunday-School Class, 

humorous, a young lawyer’s first 
experience in teaching a class of boys. 

Mr. Kris Kringle, a beautiful Christmas 
story, being an extract from “Mr. Kris 
Kringle,’’ by Dr. S. Weir Mitchell. 

The Land of Nod, a fanciful poem, by 
Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 

The Mysterious Portrait, an amusing 
result attending the finding of a mir- 
ror in Japan. 

How Hezekiah Stole the Spoons, hu- 
morous. 


The Hunt, an inspiriting extract from 
“ The Love Chase.” 

A Big Enough Family, a child imper- 
sonation. 

Joan of Arc’s Farewell, a thrilling 
declamation. 

The Soul of the Violin, a pathetic story 
of a musician’s attachment to his vio- 
lin, a very popular recitation. 

My Double and How He Undid Me, 

humorous and very popular by Dr. 
Edward Everett Hale. 

Fall In, a thrilling poem for G. A. R. 
occasions. 

Leap Year Mishaps, affords good op- 
portunities for spinster characteriza- 
tion. 

The Teacher’s Diadem, a good Sun- 
day-school selection. 

Lyric of Action, an instructive decla- 
mation, by Paul Hamilton Hayne. 

The Traveler and the Temple of 
Knowledge, a pleasing extract from 
“Ships That Pass in the Night,” by 
Beatrice Harraden. 

Thanksgiving Day, a pathetic Thanks- 
giving story. 

On the Other Train, a very pathetic 
prose piece, exceedingly popular. 

Them Oxen, a great-grandmother’s 
story, old woman characterization. 

Dot Dutchman in Der Moon, German 

dialect. 

Hagar, a dramatic description of the 
departure of Hagar to the Desert. 

An Easter with Parepa, a very accept- 
able Easter story. 

Jock Johnstone, the Tinkler, a caudal 
Scotch dialect poem, very popular. 

His Sister, encore. 

Hilda, dramatic and pathetic. 















































































































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